


A Hint of Amnesia

by missgeevious



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Bad Puns, Closets, Cute Huge Yachts, First Meetings, High David Rose, High Stevie Budd, M/M, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Sebastien Raine is an Asshole, Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia, gay panic hikes, regular panic hikes, tire pounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25071754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgeevious/pseuds/missgeevious
Summary: David Rose falls off his cute huge yacht, loses his memory, and washes up in Schitt’s Creek, where he learns how to love.This is loosely based on the movie Overboard, but if you readAll the Songs I Sing Are About You,you already know I have a tendency to stray pretty far from the source material. The story is barely recognizable beyond the basic premise.Schitt’s Creek is a small town on the water in this story, and NOTHING about the experience or treatment of amnesia in this is remotely accurate. It’s all made up, folks. Suspend your disbelief before entering.The title comes from an episode of Schitt’s Creek. Bragging rights to the first person who figures out what episode and scene it came from.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Jake, Sebastien Raine/David Rose
Comments: 353
Kudos: 374





	1. Whiskey or Whatever (Patrick)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, @vivianblakesunrisebay, for the good eye and really great suggestions and for always being excited to talk through ideas. And to @smallumbrella and @deenerann for the endless and deeply needed hair pats and enthusiasm that fueled the journey.
> 
> @NoahRose27 thought he was joking when he told me to write this months ago. Joke’s on me. This was a lot of work. He’s not allowed to whine about having to read it chapter by chapter.

The first time Jake asked him if he wanted to get together for a “whiskey or whatever,” Patrick didn’t understand what Jake was actually asking him. 

Patrick was still pretty new to Schitt’s Creek at that point. He was working for Ray as a business consultant and Jake had come in looking for help with incorporation papers for his new furniture design studio and workshop. He wanted to call it _Jake’s Good Wood_ and Patrick choked on his tea when Jake told him. Despite his gentle efforts to talk him out of it, that’s the name he went with. Jake’s confidence in the name, and in himself generally, was unshakable. 

When Patrick stopped by the studio a few days later to drop off Jake’s business license, he ended up staying to help out a bit. Jake’s designs were both beautiful and functional, which appealed to Patrick. He appreciated the hidden beauty in mundane things like the curve of a chair back or the way the lines of a desk could somehow feel orderly and inviting. 

The studio itself was pleasant and comfortable. Plenty of light flooded through the windows set high up around the perimeter of the very large space. The sweet smell of sawdust permeated everything and Jake always had great music playing. Patrick found himself reaching for excuses to stop by or spend time there, eventually offering to partner with Jake in the business. He had an instinct it was going to be successful despite the name, and he wanted to be part of it. 

Jake wasn’t really a numbers or details guy so he was happy to have someone else take over the business tasks, leaving him to focus on creating and building. Patrick applied for a couple of small business grants to help with the start-up costs and provide himself with a salary to supplement what he made working for Ray. Then he got to work building the infrastructure of the new business. Thus, Jake became his partner as well as one of Patrick’s first friends in this new town he’d landed in after… well, after running away from his old life. Because that’s what he’d done. He’d wanted a clean break and a fresh start, and he’d made that happen for himself. 

Earlier on this particular day, when Jake asked him if he wanted to get a drink after work, Patrick had focused on the “whiskey” in his question but now, as it turns out, maybe he should have paid more attention to the “whatever,” because about two sips into the whiskey, Jake reaches over and puts his big, callused hand on Patrick’s thigh. 

Patrick startles and nearly falls off his bar stool. 

Jake’s blue eyes crinkle in amusement. “You okay there?” 

Patrick clears his throat and avoids meeting Jake’s very direct gaze by fiddling with his glass. “Uh. Um. Yeah, yeah I’m okay. You just… I was surprised, is all.” His eyes flick to Jake’s and skitter away again, but he doesn’t tell Jake to stop touching him and he doesn’t move away. His breathing is suddenly something he has to think about. Inhale. Exhale.

Jake waits until Patrick settles down and makes eye contact again, then he looks him up and down and smiles in a way that makes heat prickle under the skin of Patrick’s face. “You’re a good-looking guy, Patrick.”

Oh, Patrick thinks. _Ohhhh._ He scrambles to process the realization that Jake is into guys, and into him specifically. He’s also stumbling over the fact that his own immediate response to Jake’s hand had been a flash of excited adrenaline that is still fizzing through his veins. It’s a lot to absorb so quickly. He feels off-balance and unprepared for the turn this “whiskey or whatever” thing has taken. 

“Well, uh, thanks.” He takes a big swallow of his drink and hopes Jake doesn’t notice his hand shaking. “Um, so are you,” which is a huge understatement. Jake is flat-out gorgeous. Tall with a broad chest, strong jaw, _great_ shoulders, and what seems to be a permanent impish tilt to his mouth. The combination of his looks and the relaxed, confident way he moves has already drawn admiring gazes from nearly everyone in the bar. You’d have to be dead not to notice how attractive Jake is. 

Jake dips his head in polite acknowledgement of the obvious. “Thanks.”

Patrick takes another mouthful of whiskey. Jake’s warm hand continues to sit on his leg, radiating heat and possibility. There is a pulsing, tightening sensation low in his belly and regardless of what his mind thinks about the turn things have taken, his body is responding to Jake’s hand on his thigh. That’s new, and interesting... and a little terrifying. He concentrates on not shifting around and calling attention to what is happening. 

“Would you like to come back to my place?” Jake says.

Patrick accidentally inhales some of the whiskey in his mouth and chokes and coughs until his eyes water. Jake takes his hand off his thigh and uses it to pat him on the back a few times.

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Patrick wheezes, “Yeah. Sorry. Wrong pipe.”

“Seems like maybe we’re not on the same page,” Jake smiles at him good-naturedly.

“No. Yeah. Uh, yeah. No. I’m not— I’ve never— uh…”

“Oh!” Understanding blooms in Jake’s eyes and he nods. “I got you. No worries, man. You do you.” He stands up, tosses back the rest of his drink, and puts some money on the bar. Then he steps closer. His leg brushes Patrick’s. He is close enough that Patrick can smell sawdust and whiskey and just a little bit of wood stain and sweat. He smells _masculine_. He smells really good. Jake palms Patrick’s shoulder and squeezes— _such big hands_ — and Patrick feels that pull low in his belly again. 

“Offer’s open,” he says casually. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then he turns to go, and Patrick watches him walk away, as does almost everyone else in the bar. 

After he leaves, Patrick sits there in a daze, staring at his drink but not seeing it, until the bartender finally asks if he is okay. Patrick blinks at her dumbly for a moment and then says, “Yeah, I’m fine.” He puts some money down and walks out, still lost in thought. 

He spirals for a bit after that and goes on a lot of runs and a lot of hikes. He isn’t troubled by the thought that he might be— probably _is_ — gay. In fact, the realization comes as a bit of a relief. It explains a lot, actually, including why he’d broken things off with his fiancée and run away to start over in a new town. The spiraling is because he is compelled to rethink so many things from his past with this new understanding. He feels like he’s been staring at one of those optical illusion pictures where you can either see the young woman or the old lady, depending on how you focus, and for the first time, he is focusing on the right thing and sees the other picture he’d never been able to see before. He feels a sense of wonder at the completeness of the new picture, but he is embarrassed about not having seen it until now. This had been here all along, so obvious, _right there_ , but he’d missed it. He thinks about the crushes he hadn’t recognized and the sex that never seemed to be the mind-blowing experience his friends talked about.

He spends a long time trying to sort out how he could have made it this long without realizing he might not be straight. His inability to find a clear, logical explanation for it frustrates him and the longer it goes on the angrier he gets with himself, and the faster and harder the hikes and runs become. Math and logic have always been his main tools for understanding and relating to the world, and they are failing him now. In the end, he realizes that despite regular use of deductive reasoning his whole life, he’s somehow managed to use some extremely faulty _inductive_ reasoning when it comes to his sexuality. His first kiss had been with Rachel. He liked her and they got along really well and made each other laugh and he wanted to be around her. He’d somehow summed up all of that to support the assumption he was heterosexual, and no other vectors had appeared to challenge that assumption. 

Then Jake came along, and he was one hell of a vector. 

Although, clearly, Patrick had known _something_ was wrong much sooner than that. He’d broken his engagement to Rachel and run away from his entire life, landing in this small coastal town with the ridiculous name. The slogan on the sign at the outskirts of town had touched something in him, even with the crazy town name: “Schitt’s Creek, where everyone fits in.” He’d stopped to see what the town had to offer, and before that first meal at the Cafe Tropical was over, he’d met Ray and had a job and a place to live. It seemed like destiny. Now he has friends and a new business venture, and maybe something… else.

After that night at the bar, Jake is his usual amiable, relaxed self and it isn’t weird or strained in any way between them. It’s genuinely as if nothing happened, as if he’d never squeezed Patrick’s thigh and invited him to his bed. But Patrick can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe Jake doesn’t realize he is a thirty-year-old man’s gay awakening, or maybe he’s been that for so many people that it no longer registers. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. He gets the feeling Jake doesn’t let much of anything trouble him. 

He spends the next bit of time feeling really stupid about all of it, and that’s when he switches from hiking and running to visiting the local gym, where he flips ropes and pounds tires with a sledgehammer until he can’t lift his arms and his legs wobble so badly he has trouble walking. He leaves those sessions feeling exhausted and cleaned out. Empty. Too tired to continue chasing his thoughts or feel embarrassed. He stumbles home on shaky legs, showers, falls into bed, and sleeps deeply. 

Between the hiking, the running, and the tire-pounding, he is in the best shape of his life and one Saturday night it suddenly occurs to him there is no better time than the present to take his new body and his new self out for a test drive. He could continue feeling stupid and trying to make sense of it all, or he could just accept it and move forward. He likes being a take-charge guy so accepting it and moving forward sounds _really_ good to him, as does putting a stop to the endless attempts to make it all fit into neat categories for himself. He is tired of thinking. It’s time for action. It’s time to learn more about what he likes. He needs to know for sure.

He pulls out his phone and sends a text to Jake before he can get back up in his head about it. 

Jake  
  
Wanna grab a drink?  
  
Now?  
  


Patrick pauses. If he says yes, is that the same as asking for a hook-up? He doesn’t think he is ready for that. Or is a drink just a drink unless he actually says the words, “Do you wanna hook up?” And just like that, he is back to thinking too much and his stomach clenches with nervousness. He forces himself to take a deep breath and stop. He reminds himself that he wants to take action, not go back to spiraling thoughts and long hikes.

Jake  
  
Wanna grab a drink?  
  
Now?  
  
Sure  
  
I’m still at the studio. There’s whiskey here. Come over.  
  


Patrick feels a hot shudder of excitement rush out from his chest, into his arms and legs, and then retreat to his stomach to bounce around. He takes another deep breath and acts before he has time to think about it.

Jake  
  
Wanna grab a drink?  
  
Now?  
  
Sure  
  
I’m still at the studio. There’s whiskey here. Come over.  
  
Okay. See you soon.  
  


Patrick watches the phone screen for a minute, but Jake doesn't reply again. He can already feel himself starting to overthink this choice so he quickly grabs his wallet and keys and leaves the apartment. 

He decides to walk to Jake’s studio to try to work off some of his nervous energy, which backfires because it takes him much longer to get there than it would have if he’d driven, which gives him more time to think. By the time he walks through the studio door he is practically vibrating and he is working very hard to not let it show. 

Jake hears the heavy metal door clang shut behind Patrick and looks up from where he is sanding a long plank of wood. He stops, pushes his safety glasses up and off, and gives him a slow smile. “Hey, man.” He is wearing soft, faded jeans that cling to his hips and thighs and a white tank top that leaves very little to the imagination. The flannel shirt he’d been wearing earlier in the day is flung over the corner of his workbench and Stevie Ray Vaughan is wailing and growling through the bluetooth speaker. Patrick’s eyes involuntarily drop to Jake’s chest and he forces them upward again and swallows.

_Be cool, Brewer._ Patrick lifts the fingers of one hand just a little in a half-wave, and returns the smile. “Hey.”

Jake walks over and gently squeezes Patrick’s arm before continuing past him toward the desk and leather armchairs that occupy one corner of the studio. He pulls open the bottom drawer of the desk and gets out the bottle of Basil Hayden’s that lives there, along with two tumblers. 

Patrick follows him and stands in front of the desk and waits while Jake pours them each a couple of fingers of the whiskey and hands Patrick’s to him. They clink glasses and each take a sip, never breaking eye contact. The way Jake is looking at him while he swallows sends heat licking through Patrick’s veins. Patrick hopes the whiskey does something to settle him a bit. He feels jumpy.

Jake walks around the front of the desk and passes so close in front of him that Patrick twitches a little in anticipation, but then Jake simply sits down on the edge of the desk and takes another sip of his drink. “So, what’s up?”

Patrick’s heart stutters and begins pounding in his chest. He has no idea what to say. What the hell was thinking? He is in business with this man. This isn’t appropriate. It almost certainly won’t end well. This is a terrible mistake. He tosses back the rest of his drink in one gulp and starts trying to think of a reasonable excuse for his behavior, but before he can say anything Jake reaches one hand out and rests it on Patrick’s hip. He pauses for a moment and when Patrick’s only response is to inhale sharply and drop his gaze to Jake’s mouth, he tightens his grip and uses that hand to tug Patrick forward, between his legs. Then he reaches out with the other hand, slides it over Patrick’s cheek, and wraps it around the back of his head, fingers gliding through the short hair on the back of his neck. Patrick shivers and his pulse quickens. This is going to happen. Jake pauses briefly once more, eyes flicking over Patrick’s face, and then covers Patrick’s mouth with his own. 

Patrick’s eyes flutter closed and he stops breathing as he focuses on the feel of Jake’s mouth on his. His lips are cool and his breath is hot as he exhales against Patrick’s cheek. His stubble drags over Patrick’s chin and he shivers again. A small, objective part of him is evaluating every moment of this and noticing all the ways it feels different from kissing a woman. That doesn’t last long, though. Soon he’s lost in sensation and dizzy with it. He reaches up and puts his hands on Jake’s shoulders to steady himself. Jake’s hand slides past his hip and his fingers splay over his lower back and pull him closer. A small hum escapes Patrick without his permission and Jake takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss. He uses the tip of his tongue to trace Patrick’s lips, seeking entrance. Patrick closes the remaining distance between them and opens for him. 

Jake’s tongue sliding against his own is an electric shock that races through Patrick and straight to his cock. _Jesus._ He’s never been so turned on so fast from just kissing someone in his life. He opens his mouth wider and pushes his tongue back against Jake’s and into his mouth, sweeping through and then retreating when Jake takes control of the kiss again. Time gets fuzzy after that. Patrick is only vaguely aware of the fact that Jake is pulling him closer until their chests are pressed together and he can feel Jake’s thighs pressing into his hips. Jake’s hands stroke up and down Patrick’s sides and then down to cup his ass. Patrick’s breathing speeds up another notch and he begins to feel lightheaded so he breaks the kiss to suck in some air. Jake presses his face into Patrick’s neck to lick and bite and suck, and that isn’t helping Patrick’s breathing _at all_. 

His eyes float closed again as he’s washed away by the rhythm of Jake’s mouth— soft, velvety drag of tongue, followed by a sharp nip of teeth, followed by hot, wet suction— soft, sharp, hot, over and over, from under his ear, down the side of his neck, to his collarbone, over the dip where his throat meets his chest, and up the opposite side of his neck. Soft drag… sharp nip… hot suction. Patrick’s hips begin to press forward and roll back in tandem with the movements of Jake’s mouth, seeking friction. 

He is panting now. He feels wild and so unbelievably turned on. Then he realizes that Jake has stopped his assault on his neck and he opens his eyes, even though he is a little afraid to do it. He expects to find Jake amused by his enthusiastic response. He feels a hot blush rush into his face and down his chest, but he does it, he opens his eyes and meets Jake’s gaze. To his surprise, Jake doesn’t look amused. He looks intense. His eyes are hooded and Patrick senses he is restraining himself very carefully. Patrick knows he isn’t ready for what he sees in Jake’s eyes at that moment, not remotely, but, God, _he wants it._ He wants whatever this man wants to give him. He is so hard it hurts. He wants Jake to take him right then, however he wants, wherever he wants. He wants Jake to make him come and come and come. 

Jake reaches out and slides one finger behind the button of Patrick’s jeans and tugs. “Are we doing this?”

Patrick’s mouth is dry and when he tries to speak an unintelligible noise escapes. He clears his throat and tries again. “What— um, what did you have in mind?” Suddenly he really wants another glass of whiskey. 

As if reading his mind, Jake lets go of Patrick’s jeans and reaches behind himself for the bottle of whiskey. He doesn’t bother with the glasses. He drinks straight from the bottle and then holds it out to Patrick, whose eyes catch on the movement of Jake’s throat when he swallows. He is too distracted to notice the bottle.

“Patrick?”

Patrick tears his gaze away and takes the whiskey. “Yeah, thanks.” He takes a much larger swallow than he should, thinks about it, and then takes a second, more reasonably-sized drink. 

Jake chuckles, takes the bottle from him, and sets it back down on the desk. “So, I’m pretty sure this isn’t something you’ve done before. I can work with that, but I need you to tell me what you want.” He slides his finger back into Patrick’s pants, tugs him forward again, and kisses him briefly. “What do you want?” he says in a low whisper that could probably make him come all on its own.

Patrick works to ignore his instinct to back away from this moment, works to set aside his embarrassment and anxiety. He wants to know. He needs to know. “I want you to touch me,” he whispers back, “but I’m pretty sure I’m going to come as soon as you do.”

Jake smiles. “That’s flattering.” 

He kisses Patrick again, but this time Patrick chases his mouth and deepens the kiss. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t want to negotiate what happens next. He just… wants. He has never, ever, in his life, wanted someone to touch his dick more than he wants Jake to in that moment. Some small, rational part of him knows this is too much, too soon, knows this has gotten out of hand, knows it is a bad idea. But that small part of him is no match for his pulsing hard-on and the rushing heat he can feel coiling inside him. If _this_ is what this is supposed to feel like? God, how did people ever _stop_?

He feels Jake tug the button of his jeans open and then carefully unzip him and slide his hand inside. The moment Jake’s hand brushes against him Patrick moans and drops his head to Jake’s shoulder. He gasps and pants and focuses everything he has on not coming immediately. Jake seems to understand and holds his hand still for several moments until Patrick’s breathing slows a little. 

Patrick hisses, “Jesus. I was right. This… I’m not…” his words leave him again because he opens his eyes and looks down at the sight of Jake’s very masculine-looking hand shoved down the front of his pants, strong forearm muscles bunching, and… god. _Oh, god._ He presses his dick forward against Jake’s hand and grips his biceps tightly. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and hums with the effort of trying to stop the orgasm he feels thrumming in his balls. He’s so close. 

Jake exhales a little laugh that tickles Patrick’s ear and sends shivers racing through his body. He pulls his hand out of Patrick’s pants and quickly pushes his pants and briefs down enough to free his cock. Patrick’s head is still tipped into Jake’s shoulder, his gaze fixed down at himself, watching what Jake is doing. He is so, so hard, and leaking freely, and he knows Jake is staring down at him too and it’s a lot, both of them just looking down at him like this. He needs… something… anything. “Please,” he whispers.

The whisper turns into a grunt as Jake reaches out again and swipes his thumb over the tip of Patrick’s cock, spreading the moisture around and then wrapping his hand around the shaft, squeezing, and then tugging once… twice… and on the third one, despite trying his best to hold it back, to hang on just a little longer, Patrick’s orgasm explodes through him and he comes, jerking and burying his face in Jake’s neck to muffle the shout he can’t contain either. 

He stays like that for several seconds, gasping, face burning, until the need for air is greater than his embarrassment. He pulls back a bit, far enough to get more air but not so far that he had to look Jake in the eye. “Sorry,” he mumbles to Jake’s shoulder. 

“Don’t be.” Jake’s voice is calm but there is a tense undercurrent to it and Patrick wonders if Jake is frustrated with him, but then he says, “Kiss me, Patrick,” in a low, wanting voice.

Without thinking about it, Patrick tilts his face up and does as Jake commands. Jake’s strong fingers clench the back of Patrick’s neck, locking their mouths together in a bruising kiss that he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to. Patrick’s entire world is the smell of sawdust, the taste of whiskey, the heavy drag of Jake’s tongue through his mouth, and the lingering aftershocks of his orgasm. Patrick is so consumed that it isn’t until Jake breaks the kiss and drags his mouth to Patrick’s ear to pant and groan that Patrick realizes Jake has pushed his own pants down and is stroking himself, using Patrick’s come as lubricant. “Oh, my god,” Patrick whispers. 

“God, that was hot, Patrick. You came so hard. You wanted it so much.” 

Patrick drops his forehead to Jake’s shoulder again so he can watch as Jake’s hand begins moving faster over himself. 

“Yeah, watch me. Watch me, Patrick.” Jake’s breathing gets faster and his fingers dig into Patrick’s neck again but now they hold his head down so he can’t look away, not that Patrick wants to. He is hypnotized by the sight of Jake’s wet cockhead pushing up through the tight circle of his fist over and over. He licks his lips and swallows. Without thinking about it he reaches out. “Fuck… yeah... touch me, Patrick.” Jake grabs Patrick’s hand, wraps it around his cock, then closes his fist over it and goes back to the rhythm he’d been keeping. Patrick wants to slow down and really touch Jake, explore a bit and process touching another man this way, but Jake is well along at this point. Once Patrick has his rhythm Jake lets go and grabs Patrick’s hip. Between the hand on his neck and the hand on his hip, Jake has Patrick locked in place and he begins thrusting into Patrick’s hand. Jake is grunting with each rock of his hips, getting faster and faster, until finally his entire body stiffens and Patrick barely gets his hand up in time to catch the hot ribbons of come spurting between them. 

And then it’s over. 

Jake catches his breath and then leans back on the edge of the desk again, jeans still halfway down, cock beginning to soften against his leg, completely unselfconscious, comfortable even. Patrick, on the other hand, is using his clean hand— well, mostly clean— to awkwardly tug his jeans and underwear up enough to be able to tuck himself away. Jake picks up the bottle of whiskey, takes a drink, and uses it to gesture before holding it out to Patrick. “There are some clean towels on the shelf by the utility sink.” Patrick accepts the bottle and drinks from it before handing it back and walking over to the sink. He cleans himself up as best he can. Then he dampens a second towel and brings it to Jake, who is waiting patiently. 

“Thanks, man,” he says when Patrick holds out the towel.

“You’re welcome,” Patrick says automatically and looks away while Jake cleans up and dresses again. He doesn’t know what to do. He’d enjoyed the sex part but this part, the after part— he feels completely out of his element with this. The fact that this was his first time with a man isn’t really what he’s thinking about right now, although he will likely be thinking about that quite a bit later. At the moment, it’s mostly that Patrick isn’t a casual sex kind of guy. He isn’t accustomed to having sex with someone so quickly and he definitely isn’t the kind of guy who shows up with an exit strategy already planned. He hopes Jake will take the lead with this as he has with everything else. 

“So,” Patrick says, “Uh, that was…” his eyes flick to Jake’s and then quickly away again, “...fun.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and groans inwardly at himself. _Jesus._

“It was.” Jake stands and squeezes his arm while also turning him and beginning to walk him toward the door. “We’ll have to do that again sometime.”

Jake pauses and gathers Patrick into a brief but thorough kiss and then opens the door for him. “See you later, Patrick.”

Trying for casual, Patrick lifts his fingers again in the same half-wave he’d used when he arrived. “See ya.”

The door clangs shut behind him and the cool night air washes over him. Patrick tilts his head back and laughs out loud, exhilarated. He is a little confused about what his relationship with Jake will be like after this, but he is crystal clear about one thing: _He is so fucking gay_. 


	2. Cute Huge Yacht (Patrick)

The next morning Patrick slides into the usual booth at Cafe Tropical and opens the menu waiting for him on the table. He’d long ago learned to fold it over on itself until he only has to focus on one page at a time. When the entire menu is open it feels roughly the size of a twin bed and it’s impossible to look at the options without developing a neck cramp.

Across the table, Stevie moves her menu aside to make eye contact and raises her chin briefly in greeting before ducking behind it again. That one brief glance isn’t enough for him to assess her mood today. Stevie doesn’t make it easy to know her and Patrick is still dodging her sharp edges on his way to becoming part of her inner circle, which, as far as he can tell, is a circle of one at this point. 

Twyla arrives to take their order and smiles at them with a face like a beam of warm sunshine. She is Stevie’s complete opposite, as open and friendly as Stevie is closed and standoffish. Both women are beautiful in such distinctly different ways: Stevie, with her raven hair and porcelain skin and Twyla with her incandescent smile and wholesome freckles. The fact that he is not remotely attracted to either of them _really_ should’ve tipped Patrick off to his sexuality much sooner. 

“Hi, Patrick! Hi, Stevie!”

Stevie grunts from behind her menu but Patrick makes eye contact and returns Twyla’s smile, “Hi, Twyla. How are you today?”

“I’m great, Patrick! We just found out that my stepfather is going to get to keep _two_ of his remaining six fingers. _And_ we found the rooster!” she says brightly.

Stevie closes her menu and says, “Well, that’s…” she shakes her head for a moment, trying to figure an appropriate response, “...good?” They both know better than to ask follow up questions, so Stevie continues, “I’ll have the pancakes and bacon.” She hands her menu to Twyla, who juggles it awkwardly into a position that allows her to write down Stevie’s order.

“I’ll have a three-egg omelet, please,” Patrick says, and then hands off his menu as well. 

“Thanks, guys, I’ll have that out for you soon.” Twyla beams at them again and leaves.

Stevie folds her hands on the table and fixes Patrick with a steady gaze, her dark eyes dancing, but the rest of her face carefully blank. “So, what’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your face.”

“What about it?”

“It’s really,” she waves a hand vaguely, “loud.”

Patrick realizes he’s grinning and he tries to dial it back to just a smile. He looks down at the table and then up again at Stevie from under his lashes. 

Stevie’s eyes widen and she gasps. “Patrick Brewer! Did you get laid?”

 _Oh, my god, how did she put that together so quickly?_ Patrick drops his gaze again while the inevitable blush spreads over his face and settles in the tips of his ears. He twists his hands together for a moment and then raises one to scrub at his upper lip, as if he can erase the grin he can’t control.

“Paaatrick,” Stevie says in a singsong voice. 

Patrick continues to squirm.

“Patrick.” This time her voice is no-nonsense. 

He looks at her and rubs the back of his neck, “Uh, sort of? I guess?”

“Were there orgasms?”

Patrick nods. 

“Then there’s no _sort of_ about it. Spill.”

Patrick takes a deep breath. Here it is. His first chance to tell someone he’s gay. He came here with that intent. He’s ready. It feels momentous. He can feel adrenaline coursing through his body. 

Patrick opens his mouth but before he can begin Twyla arrives with their food. After she leaves, Stevie points at him with a piece of bacon and motions for him to go on.

He tilts his head and presses his lips down in a small smile and then he just says it. “So, it turns out I’m gay.”

Stevie pops the bacon into her mouth and chews thoughtfully for a moment. “Okay,” she says while making a ‘go on’ motion again. 

Well. That was… kind of a let down, honestly. He hadn’t expected Stevie to have a negative response, but he wanted… something. Congratulations, maybe? That seems a strange thing to want. He just— he wants the act of saying it out loud to feel as big on the outside as it does on the inside. It feels _big_.

He presses on. “And I’ve just recently figured that out. Very recently.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Stevie stares at him for a moment. Patrick can see her starting to get nervous, starting to look for the escape route from this conversation. 

“Don’t worry. I don’t need to talk it out. I already hiked about it a lot. Pounded some tires about it, too.”

Stevie raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Is that a euphemism?”

“Nope! I went to that crossfit place and literally pounded tires with a sledgehammer.”

Stevie nods as if this makes perfect sense and then she shifts uncomfortably in her seat a little before her eyes catch his and hold. “Are you… okay?”

A small laugh escapes Patrick before he can try to hold it back. “That looked like it hurt.”

Stevie just glares at him and rolls her eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, Stevie. I’m okay. I’m really good, actually. I feel like a weight’s been sorta lifted off my shoulders. It’s all very new, you know, and it’s a lot to process, but... ” 

“So what— or who— prompted this realization?” Stevie smirks again and props her chin on one of her hands in anticipation of a good story.

Patrick feels the blush that had begun to cool come slamming back through his whole body. “Um,” he tilts his chin down and then raises it again. “Jake.”

Stevie’s mouth drops open and then she claps a hand over it to contain her laughter. This wasn’t quite the reaction Patrick had been expecting. He waits patiently for her to get it together. It takes a little while. Finally, her giggles subside but her eyes are still sparkling with mischief as she says, “Welcome to the club.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Jake is, um…” she seems to consider her words carefully. “Jake is a pretty open-minded guy.” 

“Okaaay,” Patrick says.

Stevie sighs. “I’m going to have to spell it out, aren’t I?”

“Apparently.”

“ **I** had sex with Jake last week.”

“Oh!” He sits quietly with that for a moment, trying to adjust the assumptions he made without realizing. “So he’s… bisexual?”

“I don’t actually know how Jake identifies. It’s never come up. He just…” she shrugs a little “... likes sex— all sex— as far as I can tell.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows as he considers this new information. “Huh.”

“He hosts a monthly massage circle that I’m pretty sure is actually an orgy, but I’ve never been.”

“Huh. Well. That, uh, puts some things in perspective.”

Stevie narrows her eyes. “Is that judgment I hear?”

“What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh,” she says, realizing, “you were thinking you might like to... date... him?”

“Maybe,” Patrick shrugs and stares at his hands. “I don’t know. I guess I hadn’t really thought it through. I mean, he’s, uh, really attractive.” 

Stevies chuckles. “Yes, yes, he is.”

“But it seems like maybe dating one person at a time really isn’t really his thing.”

Stevie shakes her head, still smiling. “No, no, it is not.”

Patrick chuckles ruefully. “Things are becoming clearer pretty quickly here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve always been kind of… traditional? When it comes to dating. I mean, I suppose I might feel differently… at some point. But, for now, it’s probably not a good idea for me to hook up with Jake again, especially since we have to work together.” 

Stevie is quiet for a minute and eyes him carefully before saying, “It was good, though, huh?” She gives him a knowing grin. “With Jake?”

Patrick laughs and nods, but doesn’t say anything else, and Stevie lets it go.

After breakfast, he spends the rest of the morning working on various tax filings for Ray and then heads over to Good Wood for the afternoon to work on the books there. He doesn’t need to physically be there to do this, but he likes hanging out at the studio and he wants to see Jake. He’s pretty sure he knows what to expect. He’s never once seen Jake nervous or even uncomfortable, regardless of circumstance. He’s the most relaxed person Patrick has ever met. He’s begun to suspect that Jake just genuinely doesn’t care about _anything_ , except maybe doing whatever feels good in the moment. Or maybe it’s that there really aren’t very many complicated thoughts running around that pretty head. Patrick, however, feels nervous and there are definitely some pretty complicated thoughts running around _his_ head. 

When he arrives he finds Jake working on a chair. He’s blasting some old Eric Clapton and grooving a little as he works. He’s wearing a variation of his usual outfit— jeans, a tank, a flannel, and he doesn’t hear Patrick’s entrance over the music. Patrick stands just inside the door and watches as Jake strips off his flannel and tosses it to the side before going back to work. He can’t help staring at the muscles flexing in Jake’s arms and chest as he lifts and turns the chair to get a better angle. His gaze travels down his arm and fixates on the way his big hand is wrapped around one of the chair legs, squeezing and holding it steady. Patrick clenches his eyes shut and wills his body not to respond and his mind not to recall images from the prior night. He fails miserably and ends up pulling his messenger bag around to hide what’s going on in the front of his jeans. Yup. _Gay._

He walks forward until he enters Jake’s field of vision and raises a hand in greeting.

Jake smiles and pushes up his safety goggles as he walks toward Patrick. Before Patrick can react, Jake has a hand on his upper arm and he ducks down to press a quick kiss to his mouth. “Patrick,” he says in a throaty, bedroomy way that conveys he’s pleased to see him, which makes Patrick’s jeans even more uncomfortable. 

_Oh. So we’re doing this now._ Patrick inhales and smiles, hoping it doesn’t look awkward. “Hi,” he says. Before he can worry about what to say or do next, Jake walks away and goes back to work on the chair. 

_Okaaay._ _I guess we’re just… not going to talk about this_. He thought he would have the opportunity to tell Jake that last night can’t happen again and maybe redraw that professional boundary between them, but apparently not. Apparently they are not going to talk about this. 

He can do that. He’s pretty good at not talking about things, actually. An expert, even. You don’t spend fifteen years in a relationship with a woman, ask her to marry you, leave her a month before the wedding, run away to a town in the middle of nowhere to start over, and _then_ figure out you’re gay without being really, really good at not talking about things.

The rest of the afternoon passes uneventfully. If Jake hadn’t kissed him when he first arrived, Patrick might have begun to believe he dreamed the whole thing. Both men work on their tasks in companionable silence. Music fills the space and they’re both so focused on their work that it's not awkward. It’s comfortable, actually. It's the same as before their “whiskey and whatever.” Shortly after five o’clock Patrick begins packing up, his eyes flicking to Jake a few times as he does so. Jake is carefully sanding the chair he’s been working on. It will be ready to be stained soon. Patrick walks over on his way out to look at it more closely. “It looks great,” he says.

Jake nods. “Yeah, it’s gonna be a good piece.”

Patrick is quiet for a moment and then nods to himself. “See you later,” he says and turns to leave. 

As he pushes through the door he hears Jake say, “Later, man,” just like he always does. 

Patrick feels a strange mixture of disappointment and relief at how normal his afternoon with Jake was. 

%%%

Thursday nights are poker nights at Ray’s. One of the main reasons Patrick chose Schitt’s Creek when he was looking for a place to start over was the fact that Ray not only offered him a job, but also a room to rent. It made everything so much simpler than it might otherwise have been. Ray is friendly and kind, if a little scattered and maybe a bit too enthusiastic sometimes, and Patrick likes him very much. He was pleased when Ray asked him to join the weekly poker game. 

The game was how he’d first met Stevie, for which he would always be grateful to Ray. Stevie was the friend Patrick never knew he needed. Her inability to be anything other than her prickly, sarcastic self was off-putting to a lot of people, but not Patrick. Stevie didn’t need or want to talk about feelings, which was exactly what Patrick needed in a friend at that point in his life. Plus, she was really funny and he never tired of listening to her subversive take on the world. 

The weekly game had also introduced him to the town’s mayor, Roland Schitt, which was a useful connection for someone working with businesses to have, even if Roland himself was frequently a little horrifying. Patrick quickly discovered it was best to avoid looking at him if Roland was eating anything, which was challenging as Roland _always_ seemed to be eating something.

He’d also met two other regulars at the game: Ronnie, the head of city council, and Bob, the owner of a local garage and another council member. Ronnie was the only person he’d met so far who didn’t like him. Patrick was used to being liked. He _liked_ being liked. He didn’t think he’d done anything to offend her, so Ronnie’s behavior toward him was a source of consternation and confusion. He would figure it out eventually. Bob was a nice enough guy, if a bit odd. Honestly, “a bit odd” described almost everyone living in Schitt’s Creek and Patrick was coming to realize that he liked it.

Bob’s wife, Gwen, arrives with some snacks for the players and starts circling the table, serving everyone. Patrick knows that’s his cue to avoid looking at Roland for a while so he trades a smile with Stevie, and they both use their cards to try to shield themselves from seeing Roland eat. 

“Did you hear about the general store?” Ray asks the group. 

Everyone exchanges looks and shakes their heads. 

“Wendy is looking for someone to take it over. She wants to open a women’s clothing store in Elmdale and focus on that instead.”

“Well, now,” Roland says, “that’s a pretty big deal.”

Ronnie nods and sighs, “Yeeeeah.”

Bob blows out a breath and claps his hands together. “Hoo, boy.”

Patrick is confused. “Why is this a big deal?”

“Well, Patrick,” Ray says, “we can’t let just _anyone_ take over running the general store. It’s got to be the right person.”

Patrick nods and without thinking he says, “Preferably someone who recognizes that fungal cream shouldn’t be displayed beside the cereal boxes.”

The table goes quiet for a moment and then everyone laughs. 

“He has a point,” Roland says.

“In the right hands, the store could be very lucrative,” Patrick muses. 

“And by the right hands, do you mean your hands?” Stevie says. 

That thought hadn’t occurred to Patrick but now that it has, his mind is working through a lot of other thoughts very quickly. Running the general store and living in the apartment above it might be just the thing he needs. He enjoys working for Ray and being part of Good Wood, but the idea of having something that is entirely _his own_ is compelling. He’s so distracted that he fails to notice his terrible cards, keeps betting and raising, and accidentally bluffs his way to winning the next hand. 

He forces his mind back to the game and refocuses on the world around him in time to hear Ronnie say, “Has everyone heard about the rich folks currently docked at Mutt’s harbor?”

Stevie and Patrick shake their heads but Roland nods and says. “Mutt says they’re a piece of work.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Ronnie makes a disapproving noise. 

“Did you see the name of their boat?” Ray asks with a big smile.

Ronnie makes a disgusted sound and then says, “Cute Huge Yacht. What the hell kinda name is that?”

“Mutt said he asked one of them about it and the guy got real offended that Mutt didn’t recognize it. Apparently the guy’s sister had a hit song and that’s where the boat name came from.” Roland shrugs. “Never heard of the song. Or the sister.”

“Well,” Bob says with his strange little laugh, “I’m afraid they’re going to be around for at least another day. Their motor died and the repair is going to take some time.”

“I heard Twyla brought them some food from Cafe Tropical to be friendly and they made her cry,” Ray says.

Patrick sits up a little straighter. “That’s not okay. Is Twyla alright?”

“Calm down,” Ronnie says and gives him a side-eye. “I talked to her. She’s okay.” 

Ray says, “One of them has been wandering around town, taking photographs of people without their permission and saying weird things that sound like compliments but aren’t. I overheard him tell Robin her agrarian appearance was inspired. As a photographer myself, I can tell you that’s not a way to earn your subject’s trust.” 

“What does that even mean?” Roland asks. There are shrugs around the table but no one answers him.

“Wow,” Patrick says. “I feel bad for those of you that have had to deal with them. I’m glad I don’t have to.”

“Wellll,” Ray says, “Actually… ”

“Oh, no. What?”

“They heard about my closet organization business,” Ray says proudly, “and decided to redo a closet on the yacht while they are stuck here.” Ray uses air quote fingers when he says _stuck here_ and then continues, “They also want us to build an additional small closet. I was planning to ask you and Jake about going out there tomorrow to see if you can accommodate them.”

 _Great,_ Patrick thinks, but he plasters on a smile and says, “Of course, Ray. I’ll text Jake and we’ll go out there tomorrow morning.” Patrick isn’t looking forward to dealing with these people, but business is business. He’ll make the best of it. It will be fine. 

He struggles to focus on the next deal of the cards, but he can’t stop imagining himself as the proprietor of the town’s general store, and of a place all his own. By the end of the night— after he loses everything, which is not a surprise given his lack of attention— he’s formed a plan and talked himself into approaching town council with his ideas. 

%%% 

Patrick and Jake arrive at the slip where Cute Huge Yacht is docked at exactly nine a.m. the next morning, which is apparently the wrong thing to do. They are shown to the boat’s upper sundeck by what Patrick thinks is an actual _butler_. The butler instructs them to wait while he announces them and grimaces slightly before leaving to fetch his employer.

It is a beautiful morning, blue skies as far as the eye can see. The sun is warm already but the breeze blowing in off the water is cool and feels good on his face. Patrick can sense just the slightest motion under his feet as the yacht shifts with the movement of the water. Music is playing over the sound system. Patrick thinks it’s Mariah Carey, or maybe Beyoncé? He gets them mixed up. 

Enough time passes that Patrick begins to get fidgety. He paces around the sundeck for what feels like a long time. He glances over to where he’d last seen Jake and discovers he’s made himself at home. He is reclining on one of the chaises, flannel shirt draped over the back of it, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. Patrick stares at him openly for a moment. He looks so loose and relaxed, all stretched out like that. Patrick has a brief vision of walking over, kneeling on the foot of the chaise, slowly crawling up Jake’s body, pressing himself down the length of him, and… He clears his throat and tries to stop the fantasy playing out like a movie in his head. This is neither the time, nor the place. Plus, he really isn’t sure it would be a good idea to take things any further with Jake. 

Jake suddenly opens one eye and grins at him, as if he knows what Patrick is thinking about. “This is pretty nice, isn’t it?” he says.

Patrick ducks his head and hopes the blush he feels looks like warmth from the sun. “Yeah, it is.”

“You should come sit down,” Jake says in a way that makes it clear he means Patrick should come sit within touching distance. 

Patrick chuckles nervously and says, “That wouldn’t be very professional.”

“Oh, we’re being professional?”

“Mmm-hmm. Yes.” Patrick nods. “We are.” He tries not to smile again, but fails.

Jake closes his eyes again and tips his face toward the sun. His voice is low and intimate when he says, “Okay, Patrick. You let me know when we’re not being _professional_.”

Patrick feels sweat break out along his hairline. Jesus. He turns his back to Jake, stares at the horizon, and focuses on normalizing his breathing. The music, which has been an endless flow of female vocalists Patrick can’t differentiate and has faded to background noise for him, suddenly gets his attention again. He knows this one. He likes it. It’s Tina Turner singing about how the person she loves is better than anyone she’s ever met. This is one of those songs that is so catchy it’s easy to overlook the depth of the lyrics. He nods along to the beat. 

Patrick decides they’ve waited long enough and turns around again. Just as he’s about to tell Jake they should leave, a figure emerges at the top of the stairs. Patrick stops dead in his tracks, irritation gone and every other thought suddenly swept from his mind as he stares at the most strikingly beautiful human being he has ever seen. 

The man is tall and lean. His skin glows warmly in the sun, and there’s a lot of it on display. He’s wearing a pair of black shorts that cling to him in a way that makes Patrick’s mouth go dry. He has to force his eyes up and away from the front of those shorts. His gaze follows a line of perfectly groomed, inky black hair that travels up out of the shorts and blooms over his chest. The man has an open, silky white robe on. It hangs off one shoulder a little and flutters in the breeze behind him. Patrick’s eyes finally make their way up to the man’s face and that’s when he stops breathing. _Everything_ stops as he stares at him in wonder. The man’s black hair is styled to swoop up and back from his forehead. Dark sunglasses with thick white frames cover his eyes and make his expression unreadable. A perfect amount of stubble covers his face and frames a full mouth that begins sliding to one side in a knowing smirk as Patrick stares at it. This man looks like the embodiment of every nameless fantasy he has when he’s alone in bed at night. He has a sudden, almost uncontrollable, urge to reach out and touch him and make sure he’s real. He clenches both hands into fists and then shoves them into his pockets where they might be safer. The final notes of the Tina Turner song fade out and that must be the end of the playlist because silence settles around them. 

Patrick jerks his eyes away from the man’s mouth and up to his sunglasses. He wishes he could see his eyes. Hoping he can trust himself, he pulls one hand out of his pocket and holds it out. “You must be the owner. I’m Patrick. Patrick Brewer.”

The man presses his lips against a smile, takes his hand, and says, “David Rose.”

Patrick feels something electric pass between them and he squeezes David’s hand before letting go. He _really_ wishes he could see David’s eyes. 

David’s smile suddenly disappears. “It’s not even ten a.m.,” he sniffs. “I am not a morning person. I do not like being forced to deal with… ” he waves his hand at Patrick’s entire person, “you… at such an ungodly hour.”

Patrick takes a step back and raises his eyebrows, surprised by the implied and unexpected insult. 

He opens his mouth to retort but before he can Jake joins them and holds his hand out to David. “Hey.” _Oh._ Patrick had completely forgotten about Jake.

David’s head tilts to look down at the hand and then back up at Jake’s face. “So I’m not getting a name then?” he says with eyebrows raised, not taking Jake’s hand. 

The comment sails right past Jake, who laughs as if David’s told a joke, drops his hand, and throws his arm around Patrick, clapping a hand on his opposite shoulder. “We heard you need help with a closet.” 

David slides his sunglasses off and looks at Patrick with eyes widened in exasperation and bobbles his head a little in a way that makes it clear he’s still waiting for a name. His eyes also flick to Jake’s hand on Patrick’s shoulder, taking note. Patrick resists the impulse to step out from under Jake’s arm.

“This is Jake,” Patrick says. “We’re with Good Wood. Ray from Ray’s Closet Organization asked us to come evaluate your needs.”

“My needs,” David repeats as he quirks an eyebrow and smirks at Patrick. 

Patrick feels his pulse quicken but ignores the insinuation. He can’t get a handle on this person or the reaction he is having to him. He’s kind of a jerk, but a really hot one, and it feels a little like they’re flirting, and Jake is literally standing right next to him. It’s all a lot.

David stares at Patrick for a beat and then continues, “Mmm, yes. The closets on this floating prison are a true tragedy. I can’t begin to understand how anyone ever thought they were adequate.”

Just then an attractive young man appears at David’s elbow holding out an oversized cappuccino cup. “Your coffee, sir,” he murmurs quietly, but with a strange emphasis on the “sir.” It’s not quite sarcasm but it’s also not respectful.

David takes the cup, levels a finger at him and says, “Stay right there,” in a low, terse voice. The young man nods but as soon as David looks away from him, he rolls his eyes and stares at the back of David’s head with derision. These two men do not like each other, which seems an odd dynamic between an employer and an employee. 

David takes a sip of the coffee. He swallows and then clenches his eyes shut and turns to face the young man, who quickly rearranges his features into a more placid expression. “Paul, I know you are still new here, but I have asked you _thrice_ to make sure the cook puts a _sprinkle_ of cocoa powder in my coffee.” 

Paul takes a step back at the heat in David’s eyes and voice. David advances, holding the cup out for him to take. “Not a spoonful. Not a dollop. Not a pinch.” Paul moves toward the stairs, and David follows, getting louder as he goes. “Not a soupçon!” he shouts with particular emphasis after Paul as he jogs down the stairs. “A _fucking sprinkle_!”

David turns to Patrick and Jake and throws his arms up, clearly expecting them to share his outrage. He takes a deep breath and pats his hands downward in front of himself as if telling himself to calm down. Then he turns back to the stairs and begins to descend. He gets a few steps down before he realizes they aren’t following him. He turns back and shakes his head in annoyance before waving an impatient hand. “What are you doing? Come.” He turns again and disappears down the stairs, completely confident they will follow, which they do. 

Over the course of the next thirty minutes it becomes clear that David is not a happy person, or a particularly nice one. Patrick might actually be curious about the underlying sadness that seems to cloak him if he wasn’t such an asshole most of the time. Complaints and insults pepper everything he says. He barks commands to the staff they encounter. He rains a ceaseless barrage of instructions and specifications down on Patrick and Jake, while somehow still being so vague about what he wants that they have more questions than answers by the end of it. When Patrick tries to follow up on some of those questions David waves his hands about in frustration. “What about this is unclear to you? I was very specific. Also, I’m told the engine will be repaired by tomorrow evening, so I need you to be finished by then. We need to leave this backwater place as soon as possible.”

Patrick laughs. “Are you kidding?”

David glares at him with brows raised and says nothing.

Patrick looks at Jake. “Is that even possible?”

Jake, who has been quiet through all of this, thinks about it for a minute.

David huffs and holds his hands up in an impatient _Well?!_ gesture.

“I think so,” Jake says to Patrick. “If you can help?”

Patrick nods and begins to speak but is interrupted by a low, lazy voice behind him. 

“Well, _hello,_ what do we have here?”

Patrick turns and takes in the owner of the voice. He’s a handsome man with curly brown hair, but his hair and clothing are disheveled. There’s something unpleasant and calculating in the man’s eyes and Patrick immediately dislikes him. 

David reacts to the man’s presence by quickly moving to his side and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hello,” David murmurs to him. 

The man turns to David and gives him a cursory glance before saying, “ _Two_ gentlemen in our boudoir, David? I’m impressed by your ability to generate such attention, and moved by your confidence in your abilities.” He turns to Patrick and says, “Are you here to lend a little excitement to David’s prosaic bedroom activities?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open for a moment at the question. “No, of course not.” 

The man makes a sad noise and pats David’s cheek in fake sympathy. “Clearly our visitors are interested in a more bespoke experience. Something a little less…” he looks David up and down again, “...one size fits all.” 

A wounded look passes over David’s face before he smiles tightly, as if the comment had been a joke. Patrick barely controls his own face and manages to refrain from cringing. As irritating and rude as David is, he feels bad for him. David’s... whatever he is... is a _dick_. 

The man stares pointedly at David for a moment longer before turning to address Patrick. “I am Sebastien Raine.” He says his name as if he expects Patrick to recognize it and be impressed. “Are you the local… craftsmen… meant to build my David a new closet?” The way he emphasizes the word _craftsmen_ makes it seem like an insult, and _my David_ is definitely not an endearment.

“Yes,” Patrick says flatly. “I’m Patrick and this is Jake.” Patrick motions to where Jake has been leaning casually against a wall, watching everything unfold. 

“Oh, yes” Sebastien says, seeming to remember Jake’s presence, “It seems someone _interesting_ is waiting for my attention.” The emphasis he uses clearly dismisses both David and Patrick from the definition of the word.

Jake smiles and tips his head in acknowledgement. 

Sebastien’s smile grows wider and then he drops back into seriousness as he walks toward Jake while holding his hands up like a picture frame around his face. “I’d love to polaroid you naked.” 

Jake raises his eyebrows, but keeps smiling and doesn’t say anything.

Sebastien moves from side to side and continues framing Jake with his hands, as if determining how Jake looks from all angles. “You have a delightful _rural_ sexuality I am compelled to document.” 

David clenches his eyes shut. When he reaches out to steady himself on a piece of furniture. Patrick finds himself walking over to him and quietly saying, “Are you okay?” 

David’s eyes fly open and Patrick can see the tears pooling in them. David blinks rapidly and glances quickly at Jake and Sebastien, who are deep in conversation now. Sebastien has Jake’s chin in one hand and is turning his head back and forth. Jake is smirking down at him and his eyes are twinkling. They’re definitely flirting. Patrick knows he shouldn’t find this shocking, but he does. David is standing _right here_. And so is Patrick, for that matter. He knows he has no claim on Jake, but if he’s honest with himself, he’s a little irritated that Jake doesn’t even seem to spare him a thought in this situation.

David looks back at Patrick and for a flash of a moment he looks so forlorn that Patrick nearly reaches out to him. Then David clears his throat and a hard mask drops over his face. The man who hissed about his coffee not having the proper amount of cocoa powder is back. He rolls his eyes and says, “What? Of course I’m fine. I don’t know what you mean.” His voice is cold when he says, “If I were you, I would not let your boyfriend pose for Sebastien.”

 _“Not_ my boyfriend,” Patrick says automatically, trying not to let his annoyance show.

“Really?” David says. He looks at Patrick appraisingly. “Okay.” Then he turns toward the other two men and raises his voice. “Do you think you can have my new closet built by the end of day tomorrow or not, Jake? We will, of course, pay extra for the expedited nature of the job.” 

Jake gives Sebastien a wink, steps out from under his hand, and joins David and Patrick. “Yeah, I think we can do that.” 

“Thank you so much,” David says and smiles insincerely as he ushers them to the door. “We wouldn’t want to keep you. You have a lot to do in a short amount of time. We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

As soon as they cross the threshold David closes the door in their faces. Patrick looks at the closed door in shock and then turns to Jake and whispers, “Wow.”


	3. Floating Drama (Patrick)

Patrick and Jake arrive at the boat at seven a.m. the following morning. Given the events of the day before Patrick doesn’t expect to find David already awake and functioning but to his surprise they find him on the sundeck, sitting on one of the sofas. The white-rimmed sunglasses cover his eyes again, despite there not being any glare this early in the day, and he’s wearing a thick, oversized cable knit sweater to ward off the early morning chill from the water. His legs are tucked up beside him under a blanket and both hands are cradling an oversized mug of coffee. 

Jake continues on his way to the master suite but Patrick comes to an abrupt stop when he sees David and says, “Oh! Good morning. I didn’t expect to see you.”

David fixes him with a grumpy stare and says, “I couldn’t very well continue sleeping while you do handyman things in my bedroom, could I?”

“I suppose not.” Patrick can’t help smiling at him. He looks disgruntled but cute all tucked up on the sofa. 

“Ugh,” David huffs. “Go away. Go do… whatever it is you do. I let very few people see me before ten a.m. and you are absolutely not on that list.” 

Patrick presses his lips down on his smile. He has no idea why David’s brattiness amuses him, but it does, and he can’t help teasing him a little. “Right,” he says and makes a show of averting his gaze. “I’ll try to avoid eye contact until a more reasonable time of day.” He doesn’t wait for a response and David huffs out an annoyed breath behind him as he walks away.

As Patrick reaches the top of the stairs a nearby door opens, startling him a little. The young man Patrick remembers from yesterday is walking through, the one that brought David incorrect coffee. Peter? No, that’s not right. _Paul._ Paul’s blond hair is sticking up wildly and his cheeks are splotched red. The wide grin on his face fades as he sees Patrick and when his eyes travel past Patrick and find David he comes to a complete halt. Sebastien is right behind Paul, wearing a smirk and little else. He’s gripping one of Paul’s hips. Paul stops so abruptly Sebastien stumbles into his back and chuckles, “What are you doing?” Then he looks up and his eyes tick from Patrick to David. His smirk doesn’t falter. He looks directly at David while he pats Paul’s hip. “Move along. We need to find some sustenance and... rehydrate.” He smiles broadly at David and the two of them disappear around the corner. 

Patrick stands, stunned and frozen in place. He has no place in this situation and he definitely should not look at David right now. He should just continue down the stairs as if nothing happened. But he can’t help himself. He turns and glances at David. He’s just in time to see David’s chin tremble and his jaw clench with the effort to control it. He takes a hesitant step toward him. “Are you—”

David’s head suddenly turns in Patrick’s direction. “What?!” he shouts. “What the fuck are you looking at? Go do your job!” Patrick hesitates a little longer and David shouts again, “I am not paying you to fuck around wasting time!” He waves his hands at Patrick in exasperation. “Go!”

Patrick goes.

%%%

The day alternately drags by interminably and rushes past too quickly. Patrick is handy enough to actually be of real help to Jake so the closet-building goes well with a minimum of mistakes, but the air on the boat is crackling with tension. Every now and then the sound of a door slamming or a voice raised in agitation or anger reaches them. A couple of times a servant comes scurrying into the room to fetch something, always with their head down and moving quickly.

Jake appears not to notice the tension but Patrick is swimming in it and he wants to get away from this floating drama as soon as possible. When they are finally finished Patrick finds a servant and asks them to bring David to the master bedroom.

David rolls into the room like a thundercloud. When he pulls off his sunglasses his eyes are puffy and blazing. He avoids eye contact with Patrick and steps forward to inspect their work. He’s quiet for a moment and then steps closer to the new closet and appears to smell it. _What the hell?_

David takes several steps back and points at the closet. “What the fuck is that?” 

Patrick looks back and forth between the closet and David in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” David hisses, still not making eye contact, “What. The fuck. Is _that_?”

Patrick looks at Jake, who shrugs and seems content to wait to see how this plays out. He feels a flash of irritation with him for being so unaffected all the fucking time.

“It’s the closet you requested,” Patrick says in a low, tense voice. 

“Closets are made out of cedar. I don’t know what that is. Pine? Whatever it is, it’s not cedar.”

“You did not specify that you wanted cedar,” Patrick says. He’s tired and on edge and before he can stop it, his temper ignites and he raises his voice as well. “You had a lot of general instructions and very few specific ones, and the closet being made of cedar was definitely _not_ on your list.”

“Anyone with a fiber of common sense knows that _closets_ are made of _cedar_ ,” David hisses. “It keeps the moths away.” He shivers a little at the word moth. “I’m not paying for this.”

“What?!” 

“You heard me,” David says and turns to leave. “This is not what I wanted and I’m not paying for it.” His voice is ice cold.

“You can’t do that,” Patrick sputters.

“Watch me,” David says and walks out, slamming the door behind him.

Patrick turns to look at Jake but before he can say anything the bedroom door opens again and David hisses, “Now get the fuck off my boat,” before slamming the door again.

Patrick helps Jake pack up, muttering the entire time and taking his frustration out on the tools until Jake’s concern for his equipment finally makes him grab Patrick’s shoulders and stop him. “Hey, man, why don’t you let me finish this? I’ll meet you up top in a minute.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries.” Jake goes back to the job at hand.

Patrick huffs out a frustrated breath and does as Jake suggested. He stalks through the galleyways and up to the sundeck; then stands at the railing, gripping it tightly and trying to get his temper back under control. He’ll figure out how to take legal action tomorrow. He’s not going to stand for this. He's gonna get their money. 

Later that night, lying in bed, Patrick tosses and turns. His brain won’t stop coming up with lists of all the things he should have _said_ in the moment and all the things he’s going to _do_ first thing in the morning to fix the situation. 

But he doesn’t get the chance to say or do a single one of the things he obsessed over all night because the next morning the yacht is gone. 

%%%

Patrick is sitting at the cafe with Stevie, only half listening as she chats with Twyla. He’s still stewing about not getting paid for the closet, even though it’s been a couple of weeks since it happened. He needs to get over it, but he’s struggling. It wasn’t fair. They did exactly what was asked of them, and did it well. What happened after was unacceptable. It wasn’t how you were supposed to do business. Jake was over it about five seconds after it happened, of course— “What are you gonna do, man? It is what it is,” he had shrugged— and the part of Patrick that isn’t irritated by his ability to be so zen is impressed by it. Probably he should aspire to be more like Jake in this regard. Maybe he should take up meditating.

“Wait,” Patrick says, realizing he had drifted into his thoughts and hadn’t been listening to the conversation between Stevie and Twyla. “What? Can you say that again, Twyla?”

Twyla stops and walks back to the table, menus hugged to the front of her body, face sad. “Remember the yacht with the broken engine that was here a couple of weeks ago?”

Patrick nods emphatically. “The people who still owe us for the closet we built. Oh, yes. I remember.”

“Right!” Twyla agrees brightly. “Those people. One of the men from that yacht turned up in a hospital down the coast. He was found all by himself in the water. Maybe he fell overboard? He had a nasty head wound and was a little dehydrated, but he was okay. That’s _such_ a stroke of good fortune, don’t you think?”

Patrick furrows his brow in confusion. “I’m sorry, what? How is that good fortune?!”

“I mean, when my cousin Jeffrey was lost at sea it took them weeks to find him and he had to eat raw fish and drink his own urine. He did _not_ smell good when they found him.” She purses her lips and shakes her head at the imagined stink and then smiles brightly.

Patrick’s mouth opens but it takes a second for him to make a sound. “Wow.”

“Anyway,” Twyla continues, “This man was much luckier. They seem to have found him before he had to worry about that stuff.”

She starts to walk away again and then stops. “Oh, but I guess he is having memory problems? Like, he doesn’t remember who he is? Roland said the only thing he could remember was his first name and the name of our town. He kept repeating it so once the hospital discharged him, they sent him here. Roland is getting him a room at the motel until they can find his family.” 

After she’s walked away, Patrick continues staring at the empty space where she’d been. Stevie finally waves a hand in front of his face. “Hello?”

Patrick turns to look at her. “Yeah. Sorry. I was just wondering which one of them it is that they found and brought here.” Some strange part of him hopes it’s David. Probably it’s just that he wants the chance to tell him off and demand their money, right? That’s ridiculous, though. Whoever it is won’t know who he is or that he owes money to Good Wood. And he’s a dick for even having these thoughts when someone is going through something so traumatic. If it’s the other guy— Sebastien— he is _definitely_ going to feel a lot less conflicted about it, though.

“It sounds like I should head back to the motel to see what Roland has in mind for this guy. Do you want to come with me?”

“Can’t. I need to head over to the store and get some work done. Maybe I’ll come down later, though. I’m sure you’ll have an interesting story to tell by then.” 

Stevie gives him a sour look and pushes herself out of the booth. “Hey, Twy,” she calls. “Can I get mine to go?”

While she waits, she looks at Patrick with a teasing glint in her eyes and says, “You know, between the business consulting, and Good Wood, and now the general store, you’re turning into another Ray Butani.”

Patrick’s mouth falls open and he’s still stuttering, trying to formulate a retort when Stevie walks out, chuckling to herself. 

%%%

Patrick closes the general store’s front door behind him and leans back on it for a moment. It’s a bit of a disaster in here and there’s much to be done. He’d been so excited when the town council agreed to allow him to take over the lease, but after several days of lifting and carrying and moving and rearranging and kicking up dust and dirt, the excitement is fading a bit. Mostly, he is tired now, but still determined. Always determined. 

The way the store was laid out previously had been annoying. Things were never where you expected them to be. His first instinct was to pull it all apart and make room for him to reimagine the space, so now the perimeter of the store was a jumble of things stacked as high as was safe and the center of the store was empty, waiting for him to fill it. He thought the act of rearranging it all would be satisfying but instead it is overwhelming. He’s had several false starts already. He _is_ going to make progress today, though. He pulls a chair out of the jumble, sits down with a pencil and a pad of paper, and starts sketching out a plan.

It isn’t long before the floor around him is littered with crumpled up pieces of paper. After a long while he drops the pad and pencil to the floor and growls in frustration. He wants to go on a hike to work out his irritation but he is going to limit himself to just walking around town. He can’t afford to lose the whole day to hiking thoughts. After a quick lap around the main drag he finds himself standing in front of the motel. Curiosity having gotten the better of him. 

He walks into the office, looking for Stevie, but finds David instead. David is perched on the edge of the dingy sofa flipping through an ancient magazine. He glances up when the door opens and smiles vaguely and quickly at Patrick in that way people do with strangers, then looks back down to flip another page. He’s recognizably the same person Patrick met on the yacht but it’s like everything about him has been slightly rearranged. He takes advantage of David’s focus on the magazine and studies him. His hair is still swept back from his forehead but it’s flatter and less structured somehow. He’s clean-shaven, which makes him look younger. Softer. But it’s his clothes that are dramatically different. What he’s wearing is straight from a charity drive or secondhand store: faded jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a dark green windbreaker. The clothes look completely, bizarrely out of place on him. He’s still gorgeous, of course. He’d be gorgeous wearing anything… or nothing. Patrick’s eyes widen as that unexpected thought streaks through his mind and heat rushes to his face. Then David absently slides a finger under the neck of the shirt and tugs on it with a small grimace and Patrick has to swallow a laugh. 

Just then, David looks up and their eyes catch and hold for a few seconds until they both look away. Patrick sees the beginning of a smile right before David looks down again. Interesting. He looks at him again and a smile tugs at his own mouth. His angry grudge against David begins to soften. This isn’t the same person. 

Stevie walks out of the back room with a couple of folded towels in her hands. Her eyes tick back and forth between them, totally catching Patrick in the act of staring, and she smirks. “Hi, there,” she says to Patrick while handing the towels off to David, who has stood up to receive them. 

“Hi.” 

Stevie shrugs a little, like she’s not sure what this particular social situation calls for, and, honestly, who would? Is there a guide for dealing with someone with amnesia? Patrick is suddenly struck by how bizarre and precarious this all is. Are you supposed to tell a person with amnesia things about themselves? Or are you supposed to wait until they remember on their own? Surely someone from the hospital has sent David away with care instructions, right? Maybe a binder, or a spreadsheet? They haven’t just released him into the wild like some sort of wounded animal that’s mostly been nursed back to health, have they? 

Stevie finally gestures and says, “This is David.”

Patrick takes Stevie’s lead and behaves as if they’ve never met. He holds out a hand, “Patrick.”

David takes his hand and gives him the polite stranger smile again, “Hello.”

The weird electricity Patrick felt before is still there as they meet for the first time, for the second time. It vibrates between them and Patrick watches it register in David’s eyes as well. The first time they did this, David had been wearing sunglasses and Patrick had wished he could see David’s eyes so he could tell whether or not David felt something too. This time, he _can_ see it and his smile grows wider. David’s own smile becomes a little more genuine and his eyes hold Patrick’s for a moment longer than politeness calls for.

Patrick ends the handshake and reminds himself that this man is a jerk and cheated him out of payment for services and… and… his thoughts run out of steam. He wants to continue holding onto his anger at David, but it’s different now, less important, and it’s slipping through his fingers. Underneath everything David looks lost and worried, and a little sad. Patrick tries to imagine what it must feel like to not know who you are and realizes with a start that he’s got some experience with that, actually.

“Thank you for the towels,” David says to Stevie. “Nice to meet you,” he says to Patrick, and then starts to leave.

Patrick stops him. “Hey, David,” he begins, and is shocked to hear himself. He has no idea what he’s going to say next. He just doesn’t want to let David leave yet. His mind churns wildly, looking for the rest of his sentence. “I, uh, know about your circumstances, you know, with the memory… thing.”

David’s eyes slide back and forth between Patrick and Stevie nervously, as if he expects whatever comes next to be unpleasant. 

“Probably most of the town does,” Stevie adds.

David’s jaw tightens and he lifts his chin. “So that’s not reassuring at all, but thanks?”

Patrick cuts his eyes at Stevie and shakes his head as if to ask her what she’s thinking and then looks back at David. “People here are pretty kind. A little weird, maybe, but kind. It will be okay.” 

“Only a _little_ weird?” David raises an eyebrow but his face relaxes just a little.

Patrick reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his business cards. “Some of them are weirder than others. I mean, you’ve met Roland, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” David says, emphasizing the _yeah_ with raised eyebrows.

“Listen, I don’t know, but it seems like maybe you might need a little help?” Patrick hands him one of his business cards. “You can call me.” Suddenly this is very awkward. “If you do... need help.” 

David tilts his head a little and another faint smile appears at one corner of his mouth. “Thanks.” He accepts the business card, nods at both of them, and leaves. 

Stevie grins at Patrick and imitates him, _“Call me if you need help.”_

“Whaaaat? I’m just being nice.”

“Uh-huh,” Stevie says and walks behind the desk. 

Patrick steps forward and leans his elbows on the counter across from her. “So, what’s the story?”

Stevie tells him everything she knows. They did, indeed, fish David out of the ocean. He’d been using the cushion from a chaise lounge to stay afloat. Fortunately for him, the yacht wasn’t terribly far from shore when he went overboard and it appears he wasn’t in the water for long before being found by some fishermen. Unfortunately for him, he’d suffered a terrible concussion when he fell off the boat. He’d been unconscious for a full day after they found him and had lost his memory. No one had any idea why his own first name and the name Schitt’s Creek had stuck with him when nothing else had. Roland was trying to get in touch with his family, but apparently they were all out to sea on some sort of around the world trip and Roland was having trouble getting communication to them.

“His family must know he’s missing. Why haven’t they returned to port to look for him? Who the hell _are_ these people? Who _does_ something like that?” 

“Rich people?”

“I can’t imagine continuing on a vacation when someone I love is missing. If these are the people who are supposed to love him best, no wonder David is how he is.”

Stevie gives him an assessing look and Patrick realizes he’s getting pretty worked up about the family of this virtual stranger that he hated until about ten minutes ago. She doesn’t call him out on it, though. 

“The hospital sent instructions about David and said to give them to the local doctor here. Do you suppose they know the only doctor in town is a vet?” she says.

Patrick laughs. “I’m guessing not.”

“The biggest thing seems to be that we’re not supposed to tell him about his life or about stuff that happened when he was here before. They say he needs to recover his memories himself and that we can’t shape them for him and influence him. Or something like that.” She shrugs. “Act like you don’t know anything about him, I guess.” 

“Should be pretty easy, since we _don’t_ really know him.”

Stevie shrugs again and then, like the troll she is, she finally calls him out on his behavior. “I think one of us wants to know him better, though.” 

Patrick feels a hot burst of embarrassment and ignores the comment. “I should head back over to the store.”

Stevie just stares at him for a few moments, amused by his deflection, but then lets him get away with it. “How’s that going?”

“Okay, I guess. The business stuff is all fine. I’ve got the licenses in progress and I’ll have the grant applications ready soon. The creative stuff isn’t going well, though. I felt like I had all these great ideas for what to do with the store but now that it’s all open space all the ideas have evaporated. I want it to be special. I’m just having trouble figuring out what that looks like.”

“You’ll get it.” 

Stevie sounds confident. Either that, or she’s reached her maximum capacity for sympathizing for the day. 

“Yep,” Patrick says, even though he doesn’t share her confidence at the moment. “I will. See ya.”

He spends the walk back to the store trying to get his brain back on the task of designing the new layout but it keeps drifting to thoughts about David’s expressive eyebrows and the way his full mouth slides around, giving away his thoughts without his permission. 

  
  
  



	4. Like Some Pervert (David)

David sits on one of the twin beds in his room at the motel and stares at the ancient green carpet under his shoes and shudders. Everything here is offensively ugly and unpleasant. When he’d first arrived and explored the surprisingly large room, he’d immediately noticed a disgusting brown, half-eaten apple sitting on a little table and been horrified. _Ugggghhhh._ He’d grabbed the waste can, tucked his hand up into his jacket sleeve to avoid contact with it, and grimaced with disgust as he swept it into the can. Then he couldn’t stop thinking about it sitting there in the can so he put the can outside the door. 

After that, he’d cautiously gone to check out the bathroom and nearly burst into tears when he touched the one small, scratchy towel hanging from the rod. He would need more towels. Hopefully better towels. And he would have to ask the witchy-looking front desk person for them. He had no idea what his living conditions had been like before this tragedy befell him, but instinct told him he was accustomed to much higher standards. This felt like rock bottom to him. Suddenly the tears were very close to the surface again and now here he is, sitting on the edge of the bed, making as little contact with it as he can, and swiping irritably at the tears rolling down his cheeks. 

He clears his throat and shakes his head. _No._ He is not going to sit in this dank room and cry. He is going to get some more towels and he is going to wash this day off his body. He is also going to tell the front desk person about the horrifying apple situation. He grabs his room key and the waste can and marches back to the motel office.

%%%

The girl— Stevie— isn't all that sorry about the apple, or really even sorry at all. “I was eating lunch earlier. I wondered where I left that,” is all she says. David wants very much to lecture her about the incorrectness of the situation, but he clamps his lips together tightly to keep the rant from escaping. He is at the mercy of these people for everything: food, shelter, clothing, _literally_ everything. He needs to keep them on his side. Once he thinks he can control his tongue, if not his face, he tells the— Stevie— _politely_ about the travesty of a towel in his room and asks if there are better towels he can have. 

She squints at him for a moment. “Sure,” she says, “I’ll just go get you some of the _better_ towels we only give to the people who ask for them,” and then disappears into the back room.

“Thank you so much,” he calls after her belatedly. He hopes he did that right. 

He sits down gingerly on the sofa across from the front desk. It looks so old and dejected that he is a little worried about its ability to hold him, but it only groans slightly when he sits down so he settles in and picks up a magazine from the coffee table. After a few pages he flips back to the cover. Good lord. This magazine is from 1994. He is suddenly struck by the fact that he has absolutely no idea what has happened between 1994 and… a few days ago, when he woke up in the hospital. It’s all a gaping blackness without definition and it’s terrifying. The anxiety and panic start to claw up out of his chest again. _No._ He can’t do this here. He can’t do this now. He’s got to keep it together for another few minutes. He is going to get the towels and go back to his room and have this breakdown in private, in a hot shower. He focuses on slowing his breathing. 

The doorknob to the outside door rattles and he quickly looks down at the magazine to hide his face while he finishes getting it back in order. The door opens and closes again and he automatically looks up to see who it is. He's pretty sure he does a good job of looking like a normal human and smiling politely. All this politeness and interaction with strangers is exhausting, though. 

The man standing there returns the smile. David looks down again quickly, but he has enough time to notice brown hair with just a bit of wave to it, a friendly face, perfectly forgettable jeans, and a blue button down shirt. Curiosity gets the better of David and he raises his eyes again without moving his head. The man is looking around for the front desk person so David has a moment to confirm his initial impression. He’s definitely cute in a wholesome, vaguely athletic kind of way. David scans the length of his body and lingers a little on the curve of his ass while he considers the flicker of attraction he feels. It’s similar to how he’d felt when he’d first seen the front desk girl, so that’s interesting. He adds this realization to the extremely small list of things he now knows about himself. 

_1\. My name is David._

_2\. I’ve apparently lived in, or at least heard of, a town called Schitt’s Creek._

_2a. Schitt’s Creek is the actual name of an actual place and not a joke._

_3\. I like nice things._

_3a. Or at least things nicer than what I’ve been given to wear and the place I’ve been given to sleep._

_4\. I am attracted to men and women. Maybe to everyone?_

_4a. This motel is a disaster but the people hanging out here are quite attractive, really._

Keeping a list of the things he knows helps. He feels calmer when he thinks about what he does know instead of what he doesn’t. He should ask for a notebook and a pen so he can start writing them down. 

The man’s eyes suddenly tick back to David and catch hold of his own. They are a dark honey color, wide and round. Sunlight coming through the window outlines him in a warm glow. _Definitely cute_ , David thinks and looks down again before the smile he feels forming can give away his thoughts. 

Stevie returns with his towels and she introduces him to the cute boy in the mid-range denim. His name is Patrick and when they shake, his hand is warm and strong against his own, and David feels the tiny bubble of attraction expand just a little more. 

Patrick tells him that he knows about David’s situation and for a moment he’s worried about what that means, worried about what ulterior motive Patrick has for saying that. But then Patrick hands him a business card and tells him to call if he needs help, that he’s willing to help. 

_Oh._

David smiles a little at the unexpected kindness and wonders what it means that it surprised him, that his first instinct had been to brace for something bad. He thanks Patrick and heads back to his room, feeling a little lighter than he did when he left it.

%%%

That lighter feeling doesn’t last long. He takes a very long shower but at the end of it he has to put on another sad, baggy pair of jeans and a t-shirt so old and faded he can’t tell what color it started as before it was washed a million times. Something in the red or orange family, maybe. It’s awful. He doesn’t like how the color looks on him at all. His hair looks wrong, too. It’s flat and falls to one side. He keeps trying to push it into some kind of acceptable shape but it just… flops. They didn’t give him any hair products when they dumped him here. He’ll have to ask for some. He’s already so, so tired of having to ask for things and hope to get them. He sighs at his reflection, noting the bags under his eyes and the mortifying condition of his skin. He adds moisturizer to the list of things he needs to ask for and flips off the light. 

There’s nothing to do in the room except stare at the television, and it only gets three channels. Two of them are very staticky. One is playing an old cowboy movie and the other is showing reruns of a soap opera called Sunrise Bay. No thank you to both. The third channel is just a slideshow of local businesses, of which there aren’t many. The fourth slide in the series is for Ray Butani Business Consulting and standing behind Ray with his hands in his pockets and a wide, friendly smile on his face is one Patrick Brewer, his name helpfully displayed at the bottom of the screen. He’s here “for all your business consulting needs” according to the dancing panda in the corner. Why a panda and why is it dancing? It’s not clear. Also unclear is the purpose of the volcano onto which Ray has been photoshopped. David finds himself smiling back at the Patrick on the screen, who seems to understand that he’s going to be inserted into an insane advertisement and is already laughing about it. David likes his smile a lot. 

Then the screen changes and David’s smile drops away. He sits and watches the slideshow advance until it comes around to the one with Patrick again, which doesn’t take long. He feels the same spark of pleasant warmth when he looks at his face and for some reason it embarrasses him so he turns the tv off. He really doesn’t want to sit here in this room with nothing to do until it’s time to sleep so he grabs the key and leaves again. 

Stevie tells him which way town is and he sets off. It’s immediately clear the town is very, very small. One of the first buildings he passes has signs for at least four different businesses hanging in front of it, and each sign has Ray Butani’s grinning face plastered on it, as if the viewer might forget they’d just seen him on the sign above. Ray seems like a real go-getter, and he definitely has a brand he sticks to, but someone really needs to help him with his aesthetic. It’s a bit all over the place and kind of stressful, honestly. He stands in front of Ray’s, staring at the signs and thinking for a moment. Did having those thoughts mean maybe he was a graphic designer or a business... person, or… something? He mentally tries on those identities but they don’t seem to fit exactly. There’s no _ah-ha_ moment. He keeps walking. 

He passes some nondescript homes. All are neat and tidy, but generic and instantly forgettable. Then he comes to a blue one with a porch full of hanging baskets of bright flowers and a large sign that reads “The Schitt Family Welcomes You.” The sign has two birds painted on it. He stops to study it and thinks maybe the birds are cardinals. His brain helpfully and randomly provides him with the detail that some cultures believe that crossing paths with a cardinal means you are at the precipice of a new relationship. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His brain can’t tell him anything about his life before a few days ago, but it can cough up this random bit of trivia about fucking cardinals?! He rolls his eyes and continues walking.

Very quickly he finds himself standing at what must be the main intersection of the town. To his right is a restaurant named Cafe Tropical. Across the street on the same side is Bob’s Garage and a flower shop. To his left is what looks like a general store that’s gone out of business. Not exactly a bustling metropolis. The mayor gave him a bit of money for necessities while he is staying here. He is considering whether or not to use it on whatever the Cafe might serve for dinner when he is distracted by movement inside the general store. He peers through the glare on the window and is surprised to see Patrick inside, pacing back and forth amongst a collection of boxes and furniture. He looks frustrated. As David watches, he comes to a stop and stands scrubbing the back of his head wildly until his hair is all ruffled and sticking up. He looks like a porcupine or a hedgehog or something else cute and grumpy, and a smile tugs at David’s mouth again before he can stop it. What _is_ it about this person?

Just then, Patrick looks up and sees David standing there staring at him, smiling like some pervert. _Oh, my god._ David panics, turns quickly, and starts across the street to the cafe, but he’s not fast enough. He hears the door rattle open behind him and the tinkling of a bell. 

“David?” 

Fuck. He rearranges his stupid face and turns to face Patrick, straightening his shoulders as he goes. “Yes. Hello. Nice to see you again,” he says formally. He is absolutely going to pretend that he didn’t just get caught with his face practically pressed against the window. 

Patrick somehow manages to push his mouth down at the corners but smile at the same time. “Nice to see you, too.”

They stare at one another silently for a beat and then begin speaking at the same time.

“I was just headed to the restaurant to—”

“Would you like to come in and—”

“Oh, um—”

“Oh, you were going to eat—” 

They both stop speaking. David bites his lips closed in embarrassed frustration and wobbles his head a bit. Patrick chuckles. 

“I saw you looking in the window and thought you might be curious about the store. There’s not much to see in here right now. I’m still getting it put together. But you’re welcome to take a look.”

“You’re opening a new store?”

“Trying to.” Patrick steps back and holds the door open. “Come on in.”

David looks over his shoulder at the Cafe and then back again. He’s hungry, really hungry, actually, but he’s also curious. “Um, okay. Sure.” 

He follows Patrick into the store and looks around. “Oh! Okay. You’re, uh, you’re still… moving in?” 

“I mean, sort of? I guess. This was all here already. I just took over. The person who ran the store previously moved on to another venture. The way the inventory was displayed in here has always bothered me so I decided to pull it all apart and start from scratch. Try to make it better. But now…” he waves at the mess, “... now I can’t seem to figure out how to start.” He points to the chair and the pile of wadded up paper on the floor around it. “I can’t seem to come up with a floor plan that I like.”

“Mmm, I see,” David says, eyes darting around the space, taking it all in. “What’s your color scheme here? I can’t tell.” He’s being kind. This place is a disaster with no discernible theme or style.

“Color scheme?” 

“Yes, you know, what colors are you emphasizing to define your aesthetic?”

“My aesthetic?”

David controls the urge to huff at him in annoyance, barely, and studies Patrick’s face carefully. He’s not sure if he’s being made fun of or not and he doesn’t like not knowing, but Patrick’s face is guileless. He seems to be genuinely perplexed by David’s questions.

“Have you even put together a mood board?”

Patrick opens and closes his mouth and David can tell he’s choosing not to say _What’s a mood board._ Instead he just shakes his head and looks at David. 

Suddenly David hears everything he’s just said to Patrick. If you take it all consecutively, in a row like that, and pair it with his thoughts about Ray’s signs, it paints the picture of someone familiar with design. Maybe he is an interior designer. He looks inward for a bit and tries that on for size. It doesn’t _not_ fit, but it also doesn’t feel like a piece has just slotted into place. He adds it to the mental list he’s been keeping.

5\. _I might be an interior designer or decorator._

_5a. Or maybe I just have really good taste._

His eyes stray to the notebook laying next to Patrick’s chair. He really needs to get one of those before his list becomes too long to remember. 

Patrick clears his throat and startles David out of his thoughts. David jerks and meets Patrick’s gaze.

“Where’d you go?” Patrick asks. 

“Um, nowhere. Just. Thinking.” He looks at the notebook again quickly and then back at Patrick and, “Would you like some help figuring this out?” pops out of David’s mouth before he even realizes he’s thinking it. He regrets it instantly. Patrick doesn’t need help from someone who literally doesn’t know anything because he’s forgotten it all. _He’s_ the one that needs help. Help with _everything_. 

He’s about to retract the offer, to say something to negate the idea that he could even _be_ helpful to anyone given the state he’s in, but before he can, Patrick’s face does this thing. It softens and his eyes widen and he smiles. He looks relieved or happy or something. “That would be great, David. You obviously know more about this stuff than I do. I would love some help with it.”

David barks out a laugh and immediately claps both hands over his mouth to try to contain more laughter trying to bounce out of his mouth. He clenches his eyes shut with the effort of trying to hold it in and ends up snorting, which… _oh my_ **_god_ **… and he covers his entire face with his hands now in embarrassment, but the laughter is still there and it spills out around his hands until he’s practically hiccuping with it. 

Patrick is looking at him with his head tilted to one side and a small smile on his mouth, like he _wants_ to get the joke, but doesn’t, which just makes it worse. David finally manages to gasp out a repetition of the words Patrick said, “...obviously know more than I do…” before he has to hide behind his hands again to giggle. Oh, god. He sounds unhinged. He needs to get it together.

Patrick’s smile has broadened but it’s clear he still doesn’t really get it. He reaches out and pats David on the arm. “You okay there?”

David inhales deeply and breathes out one last chuckle. “Yes. Sorry. The idea that I know more than someone, or that I know _anything at all_ right now, hit me funny.” Suddenly the laughter is gone as quickly as it appeared. A chasm of darkness and fear opens in him, and he feels fresh tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “Patrick,” he whispers, staring at the worn wooden floor, “I don’t know _anything_. And it’s terrifying.”

Patrick’s hand is still on David’s arm and he squeezes, holding him firmly, grounding him. “It’s going to be okay, David.”

David sniffles. “Is it, though?”

“It is. You’re going to get your memories back. Everything is going to be alright.”

He looks up at Patrick’s sincere face with those warm brown eyes, and somehow David believes him. He feels calmer. “Thanks,” he says quietly. 

Patrick nods, squeezes his arm one last time, and then lets go of him. David feels the loss in a way that surprises him. He wants Patrick to keep touching him. It made him feel better.

“Listen,” Patrick says, “the food at the Cafe isn’t going to win any awards, but it is moderately edible. Would you like to join me for dinner?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I’d like to. And if you don’t mind, maybe you can talk to me a little more about aesthetics and color… things?”

David smiles with one side of his mouth. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Patrick smiles back, grabs his notebook, and holds the door open for David, who ducks his head shyly and walks through. 

Over a plate of mozzarella cheese sticks David begins explaining about how to use color and design to curate an aesthetic and brand while Patrick takes notes. It just flows out of him naturally. He doesn’t even have to think about it. This is definitely something he knows about. The thought thrills him but he tries not to look directly at it and think about what it means for fear of chasing it away accidentally.

He’s talking with his hands a lot, waving them around and sketching things in the air while he describes them. At one point he forgets he has a cheese stick in his hand and accidentally flings a splatter of marinara in Patrick’s direction. It misses him and lands on the back of the booth, thank god. Patrick laughs and uses a napkin to wipe it up.

“Oh, my god,” David moans. “I’m sorry.” He has a moment of wondering if all this arm waving is normal for him or if it’s because Patrick makes him a little nervous. 

“No worries,” Patrick says. “You missed me. Need to work on that pitching arm if you want to make it to the show.”

David blinks and shakes his head. “I don’t know what that means. I don’t play cricket.”

Patrick laughs and then scrubs at his bottom lip as if trying to hide the big smile that’s bloomed on his face, which draws David’s gaze down to his mouth. He quickly flicks his eyes back up again but Patrick notices the glance and now they’re just staring at each other silently. There’s a pleasant nervous energy buzzing under David’s skin. He wonders if Patrick feels it too. 

Twyla arrives with their dinner, breaking the moment, and they tuck into their food. After a too-large bite of the cheeseburger he ordered, David swallows and says, “I think _moderately edible_ is a better description than I imagined it would be.”

Patrick chuckles and nods. “You get used to it.”

“Really?”

“No, not really.”

They grin at each other across the table and then shrug and shove more food in their mouths. 

The rest of the meal passes quickly and soon Twyla is bringing the check. David reaches for it on instinct and gets to it first, but Patrick’s hand lands on top of his a split second later and stays there. 

“Hey,” Patrick says softly and waits for David to make eye contact. “Please let me buy you dinner, David.” The way he says it is so earnest. He makes it sound like he’s asking David for a favor. 

“Okay,” David says. “Thank you.” He doesn’t move his hand, though, which makes Patrick chuckle. 

“You’ll have to let go of it.”

“Oh!” David looks away in embarrassment and slides his hand out from under Patrick’s slowly. “Right.”

Once the check is taken care of Patrick asks if he can walk David back to the motel, and David finds himself wanting to stretch out this time with him so he says yes. He feels safe with Patrick, and he wants more of that feeling.

The town seems prettier on the walk back. Maybe it’s the way the setting sun has turned everything golden, including the man walking beside him. When they reach the door to his room, David turns to look at Patrick and says, “Well, this was a fun night.”

“I’m really glad you stopped by the store today, David. Your ideas are going to be so helpful for my business.”

“Hmm, well, that is a really lovely thing to say.”

They stare at one another for a moment and Patrick seems to rock forward on his toes just the tiniest bit and for a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, David thinks he’s going to kiss him. He’s shocked by how much he wants it and how disappointed he is when it doesn’t happen. 

Patrick takes a small step back and says, “Would you maybe be interested in coming to the store again tomorrow and helping me some more?”

“I’d like that.” Ugh. He said that so quickly. Too quickly. 

“How is nine a.m.?” Patrick asks.

David forces himself to take a pause this time and not seem so agreeable. 

When he doesn’t immediately respond Patrick says, “Oh! Wait, that’s right you don’t… uh…” he trails off, seemingly changing his mind about whatever he was going to say, and tries again. “You know what, let’s say ten instead. Does that work?”

David is curious about the time change, but relieved. Nine sounds so early. “Sure,” he says. 

“Great.” Patrick smiles and shoves his hands deeply into his pockets. “See you tomorrow. Good night, David.”

“Good night, Patrick.”

David goes inside and then immediately goes to the window and watches Patrick walk away. He hopes he’s standing back far enough to not be seen if Patrick turns around. It wouldn’t do to get caught staring like some pervert twice in one day, but Patrick’s ass in those jeans is a sight to behold and he’s going to watch as long as he can. 

He thinks about his list and adds something to it:

6\. _I want to kiss Patrick._


	5. Every Little Thing's Gonna be Alright (Patrick)

That night, Patrick is sitting on his bed at Ray’s and scrolling through Ikea’s website. The apartment above the general store came with the lease and he’s very much looking forward to moving into his own space as soon as possible. He kind of likes the look of the Hemnes bed frame, but something like the Sagstua or Kopardal is more affordable given his tiny budget for furnishing the apartment. Just as he puts the Kopardal into his cart, his phone buzzes with an incoming text. 

Jake  
  
Having some people over for drinks tonight. I’d love it if you stopped by. 😉  
  


Patrick smiles and flushes warm all over, partly from the sense memory of Jake’s hands on him that the text triggers, and partly from the series of images that flood his mind as he realizes that he’s most likely just been invited to a group sex scenario of some kind. Even though he’s half hard at the thought, he knows it’s not something he actually wants to participate in. At least, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t. He’s not sure if a second sexual encounter with Jake of _any_ kind is a good idea. It might not be complicated for Jake but it feels complicated for Patrick. 

Jake  
  
Having some people over for drinks tonight. I’d love it if you stopped by. 😉  
  
Busy tonight. Have fun.  
  
👍  
  


Patrick puts the phone down again and closes his eyes, thinking about what might go on at Jake’s. A cascade of faceless body parts flows through his mind and he absently runs his palm down the front of his pants and then lightly drags his fingers up over himself. Bare shoulders, big hands, a stubbled chin tilting up, a thick neck stretching, an Adam's apple bobbing with a swallow, nipples surrounded by hair, pebbling and contracting into hard nubs… a pair of thick, black eyebrows, a full mouth framed by dark stubble sliding to one side in a suggestive smile. 

Patrick’s eyes fly open and his hand stops moving. 

Oh, shit. 

%%%

The next morning Patrick wakes up at five and can’t fall back to sleep so he goes for a hike. He goes hard, working up a sweat and panting with effort. He’s trying to exhaust his mind as well as his body, but thoughts of David Rose chase him up the mountain and follow him back down again. The more he tries not to think about him, the more he does. He’s so different from the man Patrick met on the yacht. Anxiety still seems to thrum in him almost all the time, but he’s far less irritable. He’s nicer, sweet almost sometimes, but still closed off and careful. He behaves like someone who learned the hard way to protect his soft parts but can’t always remember to keep them safeguarded. The sharp edges of his personality are smoother, but there’s definitely still an impatient bite to him, even if he is managing to control it most of the time. Patrick sees him making the effort. He’s a man full of interesting contradictions and he’s still breathtakingly gorgeous. Who wouldn’t be dazzled by him?

He reaches his car again, sweaty and out of breath, and he’s _still_ thinking David thoughts. He huffs in frustration, climbs in, and starts the engine. The radio comes to life and Bob Marley is singing about three little birds. It’s one of his favorite songs. He lets the relaxing melody and soothing lyrics wash over him on the drive home. _Every little thing’s gonna be alright._ The sunshine warming his arms and his face, the breeze whooshing through the open windows ruffling his hair, and the music, all work their magic on him. Patrick smiles and sings his way home.

He showers and gets ready for the day, but he still has plenty of time to kill before meeting up with David at ten o’clock so he makes use of it. He brings the Good Wood books up to date and emails the updated spreadsheet to Jake, even though he knows Jake won’t actually look at it. The business is doing well. Jake’s custom pieces are so in demand that they have an extensive waiting list for them now. After that, he finishes up some filings for a couple of Ray’s clients and heads to the store to get started. 

He stands in the middle of his mess and tries to envision the store in its final form, the way David told him to. How does he want the store to feel to a customer when they walk in? What should their first impression be? He can still hear Bob Marley singing in his head. _Don’t worry… ‘bout a thing._ That’s how he wants his store to feel. He wants it to feel happy, relaxed… easy. He’s deep in thought when he hears the bell above the door tinkle and announce David’s arrival. He turns to greet him and the words die on his tongue. David is standing in the open door and it’s like Patrick forgot how beautiful he is, despite having thought about him almost constantly since he last saw him. Even in the terrible clothes, even with the flat hair, even with the worry that blankets him and furrows his brow, he’s stunning. The urge to touch him is almost irresistible. Before he can find his words again David offers him a small smile and nearly whispers the word, “Hi,” lingering in the doorway as if he’s unsure he is welcome, eyes meeting Patrick’s and dancing away again shyly.

Patrick’s smile stretches wide and he says, “Hi, David. Come in. How are you?”

“Hi,” David repeats. “Um, I’m okay. How are you?” 

David seems like he’s struggling a little with this polite small talk. His discomfort is cute and before Patrick can wonder whether or not it’s a good idea he finds himself choosing to tease him a bit. “Great weather we’re having today, huh?” he says, like a booming, middle-aged soccer dad greeting the other soccer dads at a barbecue.

David flinches a little at the voice and looks over his shoulder, out the open door, and then back at Patrick again, his uncertain eyebrows simultaneously rising and squeezing together, doubling down on the unsure smile. “Yeah.” He nods several times and then adds, “Very… sunny.” 

“For sure,” Patrick continues in the same exaggerated voice. “It’s gonna be hot later, but luckily the humidity will be low.”

David squints at him, finally catching on to Patrick’s silliness. “If you keep talking about the weather I’m leaving.”

Patrick changes back to his normal voice and grins at David. “Can’t have that. Get in here and help me figure out what the hell I’m doing.”

David’s posture relaxes. He closes the door behind him firmly, strides into the space, and begins evaluating it. He stands in the center of the room and looks around silently for several minutes. At first Patrick follows the movements of David’s head, looking at whatever he’s looking at, but then he just watches David instead. Suddenly, David turns to face him and Patrick looks away quickly, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

David doesn’t seem to notice. “This place has good bones, Patrick. The ceilings are nice and high, and the subway tile is a good neutral to work with. The floors, though…” David steps back to get a better view of them. “The floors are _magnificent,_ ” he says with admiration.

“Really?” Patrick says and walks over to stand next to David and look down at them stretching the length of the room.

David shakes his head like he can’t believe Patrick is seriously this unobservant. “Obviously.” 

Patrick smiles to himself, amused to see one of David’s sharp edges poke out a little. “Hmm, I see. They’re very nice.”

David makes an annoyed sound and the next thing he knows David is lecturing him about the importance of flooring and the specific beauty of these particular floors. He’s talking with his hands again, with his entire arms, actually, and Patrick is charmed. David’s floor lecture flows naturally into a secondary lecture about his design ideas for the store, about using the excellent light that pours through the large windows and the warmth of the floors to anchor a mood board. After a few minutes of listening carefully, Patrick picks up the notebook and pen and starts taking notes. 

%%%

They spend the rest of the day together, and it goes by quickly. Once the lecture series ends, David asks him if he’s spent any time thinking about how he wants the space to feel. Patrick is excited to tell David his thoughts. He tells him about his drive with the song and the sunshine from earlier in the morning, and about wanting the store to feel that way. Warm. Happy. Easy. 

“And plants,” he adds at the end of his speech. “I’d like to have plants in the front windows. I like having plants around. It feels homey to me.” 

David nods, a small smile curving his lips. “That sounds nice. I would like to spend time in a place like that.”

Patrick smiles too, pleased to have David’s approval. “I’m glad you like it.”

David nods at Patrick’s notebook and pen and shifts uncomfortably before saying. “Do you think I could have one of those?”

“Of course!” Patrick is ridiculously pleased to be able to give something to David. He begins walking to a stack of boxes but stops halfway there, changes his mind, and starts walking toward another stack. This happens two more times before he turns to David with a grin. “I need to, uh, remember where they are first.”

“Oh, my god.” David waves his arm at all the boxes. “Did you not think to label these?!”

“Ummm.” Patrick raises his eyebrows and smiles. “Not so much.”

“Oh, my god,” David repeats. 

Patrick is certain that will be the end of David’s assistance for the day, but to his surprise David stays and helps him begin sorting out the boxes and organizing the store’s wares into display categories. This primarily consists of David telling Patrick where to move things and Patrick moving them to wherever David has decided they should go. It’s a natural dynamic for David and it amuses Patrick to see him fall into ordering someone around so comfortably. This version of David, however, is much kinder about it. Mostly. And Patrick is happy to have someone take charge of organizing all of this stuff that’s been frustrating him. 

“Oh, my god, Patrick. No. Put it at an _angle_. Here, let me do it.”

Patrick holds his hands up and backs away slowly, amused that David’s need for things to be exactly as he wants them has provoked him to perform actual manual labor. Patrick continues backing away and just watches David silently, curious to see how long this will go on. Eventually, he sits down on the chair by the door and leans forward, elbow resting on his knees and watches with a big smile as David moves from one area to the next, rearranging things to his satisfaction. It takes quite a while for David to look around and notice Patrick sitting, doing nothing. 

He cocks one eyebrow high and puts his hands on his hips. “What, exactly, are _you_ doing? Because it _looks_ like you’re doing nothing while I put _your_ store into some semblance of order.”

Patrick stands and shoves his hands into his pockets. He smiles and gives in to the urge to tease him again. “Kinda seemed like I was getting in the way so I thought I’d give you some space.” 

David blinks rapidly and takes in everything around him, sees how much of it has been arranged to his exact, and exacting, specifications. Patrick sees the precise moment his anxiety starts to ratchet up and automatically starts walking toward him. 

“Oh, um, I… didn’t…” David’s eyes are bouncing around, not looking at Patrick. “I didn’t mean to take over like this. This is _your_ store and—” 

Patrick reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. “David. No. Stop. I’m only teasing.”

David’s bouncing eyes land on him for a moment before sliding away again and Patrick shifts a bit in his space, trying to get his eye contact back again. “David, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your help with this. I was completely frustrated and overwhelmed and you knew exactly what to do. I don’t think I could’ve gotten this far without you. Thank you.”

David’s eyes finally land on him again and he twists a small pleased smile into the corner of his mouth before saying, “Really?”

“Really, David.”

Patrick becomes aware of how close they are, of how David’s arm feels under his hand. The height difference between them is more noticeable this close up. Patrick has to tilt his chin up just slightly to look at David. He would only have to lean forward a bit more to… his eyes flick down to David’s mouth involuntarily and then quickly back up again. He inhales sharply and begins to step back, but before he can David slides a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him the rest of the way forward. 

David’s lips are warm and lush against his own and a hot rush of pleasure sparks where their lips meet and races through Patrick. Feeling the press of his pillowy lips and the scratch of his whiskers simultaneously is heaven. A pool of heavy heat settes low in his belly like it did before, with Jake, but otherwise this kiss is completely different. He feels this kiss _everywhere_. It’s in his lips and in his pulse, like a vibration in his fingertips. It sends shivers down the back of his neck and makes the hair on his arms stand up. He clutches David’s biceps, his fingers curling and digging in. Only one thought manages to coalesce from the dizzy haze that has settled over him and blocked out everything that isn’t David’s mouth: does it feel like this for David, too?

He thinks maybe it does, because David makes a small surprised and needy sound, and pulls Patrick tighter against him. Then he raises his other hand to cup Patrick’s jaw, cradling his face in both hands. Patrick slides his hands under David’s arms and around to glide over his back and pull him closer still. When David opens his mouth and his tongue finds Patrick’s it’s like a lightning strike. Patrick’s entire body explodes with sensation. Within moments they are both panting and grasping at one another. Patrick breaks the kiss and exhales shakily against David’s mouth, trying to regain some control but unwilling to move away from him yet. 

David opens his eyes and laughs softly. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Patrick whispers, finally pulling back a little and looking into David’s eyes. “That was…” he trails off because he looks down at David’s mouth again and coherent thought disappears back into the haze.

“Yes.” David nods several times and bites his bottom lip. “It was.”

Patrick sways toward David’s mouth again and then suddenly realizes what a terrible idea this is. He twitches and takes a step backward, letting go of David and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, David. I shouldn’t have let that happen.” 

David’s eyes widen in surprise. “What? What do you mean?”

“It’s just… you… you aren’t yourself. You’re not— and I—” he motions at his head and makes a frustrated noise.

David is nodding again but this time the nods are jerky. He crosses his arms in front of himself and takes a step back. “It’s okay. I understand. I wouldn’t want to get involved with someone like me either. I get it.” He’s circling around Patrick now, edging toward the door. 

“What? No!” Patrick steps in front of him again. “No, that’s not what I mean. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” David’s arms are still crossed and his face is shuttering closed while Patrick watches. “Do you have…” he tilts his face to the ceiling and closes his eyes for a moment before looking at Patrick again. “I don’t know... regrets? Or whatever?”

Patrick laughs at how wrong David is but the laugh dies quickly at the look on his face. Anger finishes the job of closing up David’s face and for a moment he thinks David is going to rush him and make a break for the door. “No, David,” he says very seriously. “No regrets. In fact, I was literally just thinking that even though we shouldn’t have done that, I don’t regret it.”

“Then what? What’s going on? Why shouldn’t we have done that?” 

“David, I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re not yourself right now. You don’t know who you are. I can’t…” Patrick groans in frustration again at his inability to get these words to come out right. “You’re vulnerable, David. You could… I can’t…” 

Understanding blooms on David’s face. “So, it’s _not_ that you didn’t... like it?”

Patrick grins despite his frustration. “David, that was a _great_ kiss. I mean, I feel like that was pretty obvious.”

David’s face is still careful and closed in a way that makes Patrick sad, but the small, pleased smile is back and Patrick wants very much to kiss it. He resists, but it’s a near thing, and based on the way the smile grows a little, he suspects David knows what he’s thinking. 

He tries again to make himself clear. “David, I feel like there’s, I don’t know, a consent? Issue? Here?” Each of the last three words comes out in staccato uncertainty. Patrick hates knowing more about David than he knows about himself. Granted, he doesn’t know much, but it’s still more than David knows. Not telling David about their first meeting or about the fact that he’s in a relationship with someone _feels_ wrong. He knows the doctors said not to tell David things, that overwhelming him with it may cause more harm, but, god, he hates it. Then again, David’s… whatever he is— partner, boyfriend... is an awful human being. David might be better off not knowing about him, for a while at least. He wonders if being free of Sebastien is the reason this David seems so different from the David he met before. He decides to at least put the idea out there for David to consider. “I mean, what if you are in a relationship, or married… or something?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m pretty sure I still remember what yes and no mean, Patrick.” David says, affronted. “My thinking is just fine. I just don’t remember… things… I’ve thought... before this happened.” He gestures at his head and then pauses a moment and looks up the ceiling with a grimace, clearly unhappy with how that sounded. He waves a hand. “You know what I mean.” Patrick nods and David continues, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of making choices for myself right now.” He brings his fisted hands up in a funny little bent wrist gesture that looks like T-Rex arms and punctuates his words with them. Patrick has to bite the inside of his cheek hard to keep from grinning. Why is everything he does so charming? “And, secondly…” he says with authority, before trailing off. His brow furrows and his eyes tick back and forth for a few seconds. Then, finally, he mumbles, “I can’t remember what the second point was going to be.” His eyes go big and his hands stop moving. “Which is _not_ a sign that something is wrong with my thinking. I’m just… annoyed… right now.”

Patrick tilts his head and tries to look appropriately chastised but the effect is probably ruined by his grin. Just as he begins to speak again David throws a hand up for silence. “Oh! Yes! I remember. I seriously doubt someone would ever marry me, but so what if I _am_ married? It could be an open marriage. Or I could be in the middle of a divorce. Or… I don’t know, I could— ”

“Why wouldn’t someone marry you?” Patrick interrupts.

David swipes a hand in front of himself, as if closing the topic to discussion. “I don’t know. Never mind. The _point_ is, there are a lot of possibilities.”

Patrick breathes out a small chuckle at the absurdity of the situation and then grows serious again. “Listen,” he says. “I know you are fully capable of making decisions. You’re clearly a very intelligent guy. I mean, you taught me a _lot_ today. But there’s so much you don’t remember, David. I mean, what do you know about yourself at this point?”

David opens his mouth to respond but nothing comes out. They stare at one another for a few moments and Patrick can see the rise and fall of his chest begin getting faster. His eyes get wide and round and he blinks at Patrick and clenches his fists. 

“Shit. I’m sorry. That was… I shouldn’t have said that. None of this is coming out right.” He feels like an asshole. David looks pale and he’s still not saying anything. “David? Are you okay?”

David nods his head and then shakes it. His chest is practically heaving with too-fast breaths now. He takes an unsteady step forward and Patrick grabs him by the shoulders. “Hey,” he says softly. “Hey. Let’s sit you down.”

He guides David to the chair and gently pushes him down on it. “Lean over, David. Try to put your head between your knees.”

David does as he’s told and Patrick rubs his hand up and down the length of David’s spine a few times. “Breathe, David. Try to slow your breathing.” He begins rubbing soothing circles between David’s shoulder blades. 

From below he hears David sniffling and knows he’s crying. “What’s happening to me?” he whispers. 

“I think you’re having a panic attack.”

“Those aren’t real. I think— I think I’m having a— a heart attack or— or something.” His breathing is still too fast and he has to gasp for air while he speaks. 

“Uh, yes, panic attacks are definitely real.” Patrick takes out his phone with his free hand and makes a call. “I know because I’ve had one. But I’m calling Ted and we’ll see what he thinks.”

“Is Ted a doctor?”

“Yessss.” It’s technically true and Patrick decides now is not the time to burden David with the knowledge that Patrick is calling a veterinarian for help, or that there aren’t any people doctors for fifty kilometers. Ted answers and Patrick quickly explains the situation. 

“I’ll be right there,” Ted says. 

“Thanks,” Patrick says and disconnects the call. 

He squats down in front of David and slowly rubs his arm. “How are you doing?”

David raises his head up from between his knees and looks at him with worried eyes. “I feel like my heart hasn’t rested in a really long time, Patrick.” 

Patrick wants to kiss him and hold him and try to soothe his tired heart. He's shocked by how much he wants that. He settles for saying, “Is me being this close to you helping, or making you feel more overwhelmed?”

“I think— I think it’s helping.” 

“Okay,” Patrick says softly and continues rubbing David’s arm gently. “Okay, let’s try to slow your breathing. Try to match mine.” Patrick breathes deeply, willing the calmness to reach David’s body.

David tips his head forward until it’s resting on Patrick’s shoulder. “Okay.” 

Patrick likes how the weight and warmth of David’s head feels next to his own. He curls the fingers of his free hand into a fist against the urge to reach up and cup the back of David’s head. He leaves his hand resting on his own leg, but he tilts his head to the side just a little, just enough to feel David’s hair brush his cheek, just enough to be able to breathe him in. They sit like that, heads bent together, breathing together, Patrick rubbing David’s arm, until the bell above the door rings, signaling Ted’s arrival. 

David is calmer by that point, but Ted still listens to his heart, takes his pulse, and asks him a series of questions. He agrees with Patrick’s assessment that it was a panic attack and talks to David a little about ways to manage his anxiety. 

“Thanks, Ted,” Patrick says when he’s finished.

“Yes, thank you,” David echoes.

“No problem, bud!” Ted claps David on the shoulder and shakes Patrick’s hand. “I’m glad it wasn’t a true _cat_ -astrophe. I’ve got to get back to the clinic, though. Those dogs aren’t going to deworm themselves!” He waves and leaves. 

Patrick smiles and shakes his head, and then watches David watching Ted through the window of the store as he walks down the street. Ted’s nice to look at, especially when he’s walking away. He wonders if that’s what David is thinking about. He doesn’t like the idea of that very much. 

Suddenly David whips around to face him and gasps, as if he’s just realized, “Did you seriously just call a _veterinarian_ here to provide me with medical care?!”

Patrick presses his lips together to keep from laughing and nods his head slowly.

“And did he really just tell me that if I’m feeling down I can call him for a _pup talk_?”

Patrick’s laugh fizzes out from between his pressed lips like escaping steam. “Yeah, yeah, he did.”

David throws his hands in the air, “What the fuck is wrong with him? _And_ with you?”

“Ted’s never met a pun he didn’t like, especially if it involves animals.” Patrick shrugs. “You get used to it.” 

“Mmm,” David says doubtfully. “And what’s your excuse?”

“We don’t have a doctor in town. Ted is the next best thing.”

“Mmm,” David says again, but this time he’s squinting at Patrick distrustfully. “If I ever have an actual heart attack, please promise to get me to civilization and to a _real doctor_ for treatment.”

“Okay, David.” He shouldn’t tease David again right now, but it’s like he’s used up all his energy for resisting his David impulses and it slips out anyway. “But what if you only need, like, your nails trimmed or a bit of grooming?” And he looks pointedly at David’s too-flat hair that David probably doesn’t even _know_ is too flat. 

David gasps loudly and raises both hands to the top of his head. “Rude!”

Patrick grins at him. “How about we call it a day and I walk you home?”

“You don’t have to do that.” David’s eyes slide off to one side, shyly. It’s the second time he’s said that. For someone as demanding as David is, he’s oddly uncomfortable with being offered casual kindness.

Patrick responds the same way he did the last time, too. “I’d like to.”

David meets his eyes and smiles. “Okay.”

“Oh!” Patrick says suddenly. “Hang on. Before we go…” he trails off as he walks over to a collection of boxes and pulls out a notebook and pen for David. He’s walking back when another box catches his eye and he chuckles to himself as he fetches something out of it. When he returns to David’s side he hands him the notebook, pen… and a bottle of off-brand hair product called Gel-Time Hair Gel. 

David pinches the bottle between two fingers and looks at it doubtfully. Then he gives Patrick a completely insincere smile and says, “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. I figure it’s better than a trip to the vet.” 

David rolls his eyes and harrumphs. 

“Maybe you can help me figure out some better products for me to stock the store with in the future.”

Patrick was joking mostly, but David’s eyes light up at the idea and Patrick’s stomach swoops. 

He holds the door open for David and they begin the short walk back to the motel.

They haven’t gone far when David says, “Um, you said earlier that you knew panic attacks were real because you’d had one before.”

Patrick nods and tries to decide how much of this he wants to tell David.

“You don’t have to—” David begins.

“I haven’t lived in Schitt’s Creek for very long. I used to live in another small town a few hundred kilometers inland. I was working as an accountant.” He stops because he hears David snort. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I _look_ like an accountant.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything like that,” David says primly, but with a smirk.

“Uh-huh,” Patrick says, smirking right back at him. “Anyway, I’d grown up there. Everyone knew me, and I knew them, and it kind of felt like my entire life had been planned out for me, you know? Finish school, get a job, get married, have some kids, retire... die.”

David purses his mouth and then says, “That sounds bleak.”

“Yeah, it kind of does. But it’s what I thought I was meant to do. What I thought I had to do.” He shrugs. “I did the first two things and was well on my way to the third when I had my first panic attack.”

“You mean you were on your way to getting married? What does _well on the way_ mean? Oh my god, did you leave someone at the altar?” David sounds breathless at the imagined drama.

“No, it wasn’t quite that dramatic, even if it did feel like it. I was engaged, though.” He glances at David. “To a woman.”

If that news surprises David, he doesn’t show it. He just nods and waits for Patrick to say more. 

“After I ended things I couldn’t stand to be there anymore. I couldn’t really stand to even… be... _me…_ anymore.”

This time it’s David who reaches out. He flutters one hand over Patrick’s shoulder and then rubs his arm a little before dropping his hand again. Patrick smiles at him a little in appreciation of the sentiment.

“After another panic attack one night I just sort of decided to chuck it all and start over. I packed a bag and left. No notice. No conversations. I just… left. I drove until I saw the sign for Schitt’s Creek. I knew I’d pretty much reached the coast and would have to choose a new direction in order to keep going.” He shrugs. “It seemed easier to stop here, somehow.” 

“Wow,” David says.

Patrick huffs a laugh. “Yeah. I’ve never done _anything_ like that before. It feels kind of unreal that I actually did that. Sometimes I think I’m going to wake up back there and find out the whole thing was a dream.” He pauses then, thinking. He’s embarrassed to tell David how recently he figured out his sexuality, but it matters to him that David is clear about his preferences. His mind flinches away from looking at why he feels that way too closely right now.

“Once I got here everything just kind of fell into place. By the end of the first day I had a job and a place to live. Then I found some friends, too.” He pauses and takes a breath. “It took a little longer— until pretty recently, actually— for me to figure out I’m gay.” 

It’s only the second time he’s said it to someone and, once again, the words feel big. They’re unfamiliar and awkward and a little loud, somehow. His heart beats faster as he says them. But David just smiles and nods as if he’s said something as banal as, “Nice weather today.” 

They’ve reached the door to David’s room at the motel and David turns to face him. “Thank you for telling me all of that, Patrick,” he says. 

Patrick shrugs, a little embarrassed, and before he has time to anticipate it David leans forward and kisses him, lightly and quickly. Patrick barely has time to register the smooth coolness of his lips before they are gone. He blinks in surprise. 

David keys open the door to his room, turns again, and says, “I’m glad you’re gay, Patrick,” before grinning and closing it gently in Patrick’s startled face.


	6. Make a Wish (David)

David watches through the window until Patrick is out of sight, only then realizing he has been smiling the entire time. _Ew,_ he thinks and purses his lips to force the smile away, and then smiles again because he can’t help it. He takes the notebook and pen over to the little table and sets to work writing down the list he’s been keeping in his head up to now.

**Things I Know**

_1\. My name is David._

_2\. I’ve apparently lived in, or at least heard of, a town called Schitt’s Creek._

_2a. Schitt’s Creek is the actual name of an actual place and not a joke._

_3\. I like nice things._

_3a. Or at least things nicer than what I’ve been given to wear and the place I’ve been given to sleep._

_4\. I am attracted to men and women. Maybe to everyone?_

_4a. This motel is a disaster but the people hanging out here are quite attractive, really._

_5\. I might be an interior designer or decorator._

_5a. Or maybe I just have really good taste._

_6. ~~I want to kiss Patrick.~~ Patrick is a good kisser._

He bites his lip and flushes at the memory of their unexpectedly heated kiss. He’s embarrassed to feel this way, embarrassed to be crushing on someone so hard at his age, which he assumes is basically twenty-nine. He’s acting like he’s fourteen again and fantasizing about Justin Timberlake singing to him. 

David gasps and sits up straight, the pen falling out of his hand. He can feel the memory tickling the back of his mind like an itch, like the build-up before a sneeze. He can see the poster. Or was it a magazine article? Or… did he _meet_ him somehow? Regardless, it’s definitely Justin Timberlake and it’s definitely evoking a sort of pleasant but melancholy feeling in his chest. He tries so hard to conjure up anything else, a room or _something_ to ground the memory in, but nothing else comes. The harder he tries, the faster the gossamer thread of memory slips through his fingers, until he’s grasping at nothing.

“Dammit,” he hisses. Then he adds it to the list.

_7\. I had a crush on Justin Timberlake when I was young (but who didn’t, honestly, so how helpful is that?)._

He reads back over this sad little list and tries to think of anything else he can add to it. He considers adding his panic attack, but he has no idea if that’s the first one he’s ever had or the hundredth, so instead he adds...

8\. _I feel anxious almost all the time._

… which feels like a fundamental truth about himself. His hair is black. He talks with his hands. And he feels anxious almost always. In fact, the only time he remembers not feeling at least a low-level hum of anxiety in the last few days was while he was kissing Patrick. He thinks about the way Patrick looked at his mouth so intently right before they kissed and about the sound of his surprised little inhale when David pulled him in. Thank God his short-term memory seems to be functioning just fine because he wants to curl up in front of that particular memory and watch the movie of it play on a loop. 

Someone knocks on the door and David startles a little in surprise and then huffs in irritation. He really is going to have a heart attack if he doesn’t calm the fuck down.

He goes to the door and opens it cautiously, peeking through the couple-inch gap before recognizing Stevie and opening the door wider. “Hi,” he says.

She raises the stack of towels she’s holding and says, “I forgot to leave you more towels when I cleaned your room earlier.”

“Oh,” he says motioning her inside. “Thanks.”

“It’s literally my job,” she says flatly. As she bends over to place the towels on the bed nearest the door something falls out of her shirt pocket onto the floor. Her eyes track its course across the carpet and then flick up to look at David before she reaches out to pick it up.

David grins. “Is that a joint?”

“Yes, it is. I found it under the bed in Room Four this morning.” She squints at him. “I guess your memory works for some things, huh?”

David returns the squint and looks her up and down. “You’re funny. I like you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Stevie snarks.

She walks past him and back out the door and then turns and waggles the joint at him. “You coming?”

David tries not to let his excitement show. He clasps his hands together in front of himself and nods solemnly but quickly. “Uh, yes, yes, I am.” 

He follows her to the picnic table in the grassy field next to the motel. They sit on the table with their feet on the bench. Stevie lights the joint, pulls a deep drag into her lungs, and hands it off to David. 

David has a funny moment of knowing exactly what to do with the joint. It’s like muscle memory or something. He knows exactly how deeply to drag on it so he doesn’t choke on the smoke or snort with the effort of holding it in his lungs. Seems clear he’s someone who has done this with some degree of regularity in the past. He wonders if he should add it to his list and smiles. 

They pass the joint back and forth in silence for a while. It isn’t awkward. It’s… nice. The only noises are the buzzing of insects and what sounds like a lawn mower somewhere nearby. Every now and then the breeze changes and he can hear noises from the harbor— seagulls squawking at one another and an occasional boat horn. The sun is getting low in the sky and everything has that magic hour glow about it.

“This might be the most relaxed I’ve been since I woke up in the hospital.” His voice is a little rough from the smoke and from being quiet for so long. He blinks for a second, surprised he said that out loud. It’s the pot, of course. 

Stevie just nods and they go back to sitting silently, smoking, and staring at the road in front of the motel. Not a single car has driven past on it since they sat down.

When the joint is gone Stevie leans back on her elbows and stares up at the darkening sky. “So what’s it like?” she says.

David leans back as well and tilts his face skyward. “What’s what like?” His tongue feels clumsy and the “what’s what” repetition sounds funny to him. He giggles a little. 

Stevie gestures at her head. “The memory thing. The not remembering.”

“Oh.” He thinks about it for a bit and then says slowly, “It’s weird.”

She snorts. “I bet.”

He thinks some more. “It feels like I lost something.” He tries not to giggle again. “I mean, I _did,_ I lost my memory. But I mean… it feels like I put something down and walked away and now I can’t remember where I put it, like my keys or something.” He pauses to think again and then continues, “Like… I know they’re here somewhere and I’m retracing my steps and going room to room and looking everywhere but I still can’t find them. Every time I try to remember something— my middle name or what school I went to or what my favorite food is— it feels like that. Like trying to remember where you put the fucking keys down and you just know you did something stupid like put them in the freezer or accidentally threw them away. But you keep looking and keep not finding them.”

He lays back flat on the table and folds his arms behind his head, still staring at the sky. “Does that make sense? Or am I just really high?”

Stevie chuckles. “Both?”

They go quiet again for a while. David is trying to focus on what he thinks might be the first visible star in the darkening sky when Stevie looks down at him and says, “So. You like Patrick.”

David feels a twitch of embarrassed adrenaline, but he’s too relaxed for it to take hold so he just smiles to himself and says nothing. He does like Patrick. He likes Patrick a lot, actually. Probably too much, given, well, everything. He should probably get a handle on it and manage his expectations, pull back before Patrick has the power to hurt him. But being around him feels so good and almost everything else feels so bad. He wants just a little more, for just a little longer.

His face must be broadcasting his thoughts because Stevie smirks, but she lets it go and lays herself down next to him. He really does like her. “I really do like you,” he says, because why not. He’s going to add that to his list when he goes back to his room.

9\. _I like Stevie._

“You’re really high.”

“Mmm-hmm. Yes.”

More time passes. Quietly. Comfortably. The glittery speck in the sky sharpens a bit more as the sun disappears below the horizon. It’s definitely a star. The first one of the night. He smiles, closes his eyes, and makes a wish.

%%%

Entirely too early the next morning he’s woken by someone knocking on the door to his room. He groans and pulls the pillow over his head but the knocking doesn’t stop and doesn’t stop and _does not stop_ , so he pulls the pillow back down again and shouts, “FUCK!” And then, “WHAT?!”

“You want breakfast?” Stevie calls through the door. 

David sits up excitedly. He had _no idea_ room service was an option here! He’s suddenly much happier about being woken up. “Yes!” he shouts, and then belatedly, “Please!” He hesitates only a moment before shouting, “Pancakes! Can I please have some pancakes?” He’s really proud of himself for remembering to put the please in the right place that time.

“I’m not bringing you food, dumbass. I’m asking if you want to go up to the Cafe for breakfast.”

Oh. Well, that’s far less attractive. He lays down again and starts burrowing back under the blankets. He’s opening his mouth to tell her to fuck off, or maybe just to say _no thank you_ when she speaks again.

“I’m buying.”

She would have to. It’s not like he’s rolling in money here. Still, his bed is comfortable and it feels too early to leave it. He debates which is more important right now— sleep or food.

“Patrick will be there.”

And just like that the choice is easy. 

“Okay, but I need time to get ready.”

“You have fifteen minutes and then I’m leaving with or without you.”

“I take it back.”

“Take what back?”

“I don’t like you.”

“Fifteen minutes, David.”

He’s ready in twenty, which feels very fast. For all he knows, it’s a personal best. But Stevie wasn’t kidding. She’s gone. He huffs in annoyance and sets off walking.

When he walks into the Cafe he’s suddenly overcome with shyness about seeing Patrick again. He stops just inside the door and scans the room until he finds them sitting in a booth near the middle of the room. Patrick is already looking at him and he smiles and lifts his hand up off the table in a little half wave when their eyes connect. David feels a funny little swoop in his stomach. 

He stands in front of the booth oscillating for a moment, torn between sitting next to Patrick and therefore maybe being able to brush against his body _accidentally_ during the meal, or sitting across from him where he can bask in his smiles and eye contact. Before he can make a decision, Patrick slides over a bit more to make room and says, “Sit down, David.”

David tucks a grin into one corner of his mouth and bites down on it, trying to keep it from getting too big. He notices Patrick doesn’t completely slide _all_ the way to the other end of the booth. Their legs brush together as David gets in and gets settled and at one point, dear god, their hips press together. But then they are settled with a sliver of space between their bodies and David knows he’s going to spend the entire meal imagining he can feel Patrick’s body heat and thinking about the fact that he would barely have to move at all in order to be touching Patrick from shoulder to knee.

He clears his throat and looks up to find Stevie smirking at both of them, eyes twinkling as she looks back and forth between them. “Everything okay over there?”

“Of course,” Patrick says at the same time as David mumbles, “Shut up.”

Patrick looks at David. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” David mumbles a little louder and glares at Stevie. 

“I went ahead and ordered for you,” Patrick says. “Stevie said you wanted pancakes and knowing your feelings about mornings I figured coffee was a good bet, but we can change the order if that’s not right.”

“Pancakes and coffee sounds good,” David says. The idea that Patrick ordered for him pleases him and he fights another grin into submission before it can escape into the world. 

Just then Roland appears next to their table. “Well, hi there!” he says enthusiastically around a mouthful of muffin, the other half of which is clutched in one of his hands and shedding crumbs all over himself and the Cafe floor. _Incorrect,_ David thinks, and successfully controls the urge to ask him to chew with his mouth closed. He stares down at his hands on the table to avoid having to see any more of it. 

“Hi, Roland,” Patrick says. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, Pat. Just checking in.” Roland’s voice is doing a weird thing so David risks a glance up at him and finds Roland making a funny face at Patrick. His eyes are wide and he’s sort of… twitching. When he sees David look up he says, “How are _you_ doing, Dave?”

“David,” David mutters under his breath and then, louder, “I’m fine, thank you.” He should probably have asked Roland how he is in return but thankfully Roland doesn’t seem to notice and goes back to speaking to Patrick. He asks him to come outside to look at his truck for some reason. 

David lets Patrick out of the booth and then slides back in again. He immediately misses the feeling of Patrick’s weight holding down the seat next to him, which is ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous. He tries to shake it off and focuses on Stevie. “Um, thank you for last night,” he says. The sincerity feels weird and judging by Stevie’s face it sounds weird too. She just shrugs but he’s pretty sure the suggestion of a smile quirk her lips briefly. 

“Here we go,” Twyla says, setting the drinks down on the table. “Food’ll be out shortly.” She smiles at them brightly and leaves again. David thinks maybe she has a greater than average number of teeth because that smile is blinding. 

“She’s… perky,” David says as he raises his coffee and blows on it a little before taking a sip. 

“Yup,” Stevie says. “Very perky.” 

David swallows his sip of coffee and then pauses, considering the taste. There’s something… not wrong, exactly… different?… about his coffee. He takes another sip and tries to figure it out. 

“What’s wrong with your face?” Stevie says. 

“What’s wrong with _your_ face?” David shoots back automatically and suddenly he feels weird. He feels very, very weird. He sets the coffee mug down and leans back in his seat. His head is swimming and he feels like he’s breathing too fast. 

“David, are you—” Stevie begins, but David holds up a just-a-minute finger. He needs her to be quiet so he can focus. She must understand because she stops talking. 

_What’s wrong with your face?_

_What’s wrong with_ **_your_ ** _face?_

The exchange is echoing strangely in his head but it’s not Stevie’s voice he’s hearing recite the first part. It’s a different female voice, one that is higher pitched and dramatic and very different from Stevie’s near monotone. 

_What’s wrong with your face?_

_What’s wrong with_ **_your_ ** _face?_

_Ew, David!_

His name sounds like “Day-vit” the way she says it. He can hear her so clearly, but he can’t see her. The urge to open his eyes and look around for her is strong but he knows whoever she is, she isn’t actually here in this moment. She’s somewhere in the past. He strains to catch hold of the memory, to see her. But, once again, the harder he tries, the faster the memory slips away. 

“Dammit,” he hisses, eyes still closed, still trying, even though he knows it’s gone now. He can feel that it’s gone and he can feel a tear slipping from the outside corner of his eye.

“Hey.” He hears Patrick’s voice and feels him slide into the booth next to him, pressing himself close to David’s side. Patrick’s solid presence is comforting so he leans into it a little.

“Hey,” Patrick says again, and this time he feels Patrick’s hand cover his own on the table. “Are you okay?”

David opens his eyes finally, giving up on the memory. “I remembered something. Or I almost remembered something. But I’m not sure. It’s gone now.”

Patrick squeezes his hand. “What happened, exactly?”

“Stevie asked me what was wrong with my face and suddenly I could hear someone else saying the exact same thing. It was a woman’s voice and she was— we were—” he waves his hand and huffs in frustration. 

“It’s okay, David. Breathe.” 

David can feel the tear slide down his cheek. “I don’t know who she is but I think she’s important to me.” 

Twyla arrives with their food and David immediately sits up, swipes his face, and picks up his fork. The pancakes look _good_ and he’s so hungry suddenly.

Patrick chuckles and David cringes inwardly at his own behavior and glances at him, expecting to be judged, but Patrick is looking at David like he thinks David is... cute? Funny, maybe. It’s unclear, but it seems generally positive, so David smiles at him tentatively. 

“Hungry?” Patrick’s smirking now. 

“I’m always hungry for pancakes, Patrick,” he says seriously. 

“Of course,” Patrick says, also very seriously. Then his eyes tick down to David’s mouth and for a second David thinks he’s going to kiss him, and oh, yes, please, he would like that very much, probably even more than the pancakes, honestly. Definitely more than the pancakes. He sways toward him, heart already beating faster. 

But then, from across the table, Stevie mutters, “Oh my god,” under her breath and they both jerk and look at her. “Don’t mind me,” she says and rolls her eyes. 

Patrick seems embarrassed. The tips of his ears have gone pink and his eyes are sort of bouncing around and not connecting with anything. David just looks at him, trying to parse it. Then Patrick glances at him and… oh. He looks fond. A little embarrassed and awkward, but definitely fond. Warmth spreads in David’s chest and he picks up his coffee mug again so he can hide his smile in it. 

He gets a whiff of whatever it is that he noticed about the coffee earlier and inhales deeply. He thinks it might be something chocolate, so he takes an experimental sip and smacks his lips together lightly a couple of times. “Is there… cocoa powder… in this coffee?”

He feels Patrick twitch a little next to him and then go very still. “Um…” he says.

Twyla, who had been walking past, overhears and stops. “Oh, yes,” she says brightly and then looks at Patrick, “Didn’t you ask me to put cocoa powder in it?”

“Um,” Patrick says again. “Yes, yes I did.”

“Phew,” Twyla says. “For a second there I was afraid I heard the words wrong. I have an aunt who woke up one day and couldn’t understand anything anyone said. It was terrible! She had to learn English all over again.” She flashes a grin at each of them and then continues on her way.

David looks back down at his coffee and mumbles, “This place is so weird.” He’s growing to like it, though, which is a surprising realization.

“Does everyone here take cocoa powder in their coffee? Is it, like, a thing?” he says.

Stevie makes a disgusted face. “It’s definitely not a thing.” 

He turns to Patrick, who looks really uncomfortable, and says, “Why did you order my coffee this way?”

He shrugs. “I guess I just thought you might like it that way.”

David squints at him. There must be more to this but he can’t figure it out and he doesn’t want to turn it into a whole thing right now so he makes a mental note to come back to it later. “Well, you’re right. I do kind of like it.” He takes another sip. “I think maybe it’s not sweet enough for me, though.” He takes a couple of sweetener packets out of the caddy on the table, stirs them into his coffee, and takes another sip. Stevie and Patrick are both making faces at him now. 

“That’s a lot of sweetener,” Patrick says carefully. 

David takes another sip and flutters his eyes at Patrick over the rim of the mug. He swallows the coffee and says, “Mmm, yes, it is. I think maybe this still isn’t quite right, but it’s closer.”

Stevie shudders. “So gross.” 

“Fortunately, you don’t have to drink _my_ coffee,” David snarks.

“Can we call that coffee?” Stevie says.

David grins at her involuntarily. He likes the way she talks to him. 

“What are you grinning about?” she says.

“Nothing.” While he’s forcing his face back to neutral he notices a small smile pulling at one corner of her mouth again and the warm feeling in his chest is back. It feels good sitting here with these two people who both like to tease him. He should feel ganged up on by this unbalanced social dynamic but he doesn’t. He feels like he has friends. He glances at Patrick and then smiles into his coffee mug again. And maybe someone who is more than a friend.

%%%

After breakfast, the three of them walk over to the store and up the stairs to Patrick’s new apartment above it. It’s basically one large room, with the exception of the bathroom, of course. It has the same beautiful hardwood floors as the room below and benefits from the same wash of warm sunlight through the front windows. 

“This is a lovely space, Patrick,” he says. “You could do a lot with this.”

“Yeah? I think so too. I’m hoping you’ll help me.”

David glances at the stack of Ikea boxes along the wall and makes a face. “I have a feeling I’m not a very handy person.”

“Stevie and I have that part handled—”

“We do?” Stevie interrupts.

Patrick doesn’t let it faze him. “We do,” he says firmly and smirks at her. “I’ll give you enough wine to make it worth your while.”

Stevie shrugs her acquiescence and starts poking around in the pile of boxes. 

Patrick turns his attention back to David and walks over to where he is standing by the window. “I was hoping you’d help with figuring out where I should put things and what else I might need.”

“Oh,” David says in pleased surprise. “I can definitely do that.” 

He recognizes Patrick’s trolling face just a split second before he says, “I figured you’d like getting to continue telling me what to do.” 

David’s mouth drops open in shock. Is Patrick just teasing him, or is Patrick… _teasing..._ him? 

Patrick just blinks at him innocently and goes to help Stevie start unpacking boxes, and David watches him go. He’s dying to get his hands on that ass, or on any part of him, really. Like, _any_ part. His palms practically itch with the desire to touch Patrick. The kiss in the store yesterday lit a fuse and it feels like it’s just a matter of time now. David shivers a little in glorious anticipation. He hopes this happens. He hopes this happens soon.

The afternoon goes quickly. David alternates between sketching floor plans and making lists and wandering the space, looking in boxes to see what Patrick already has in the way of decor and linens and such. The answer to that is not much, and David knows money is probably tight with the new store, so he makes two lists. One is the dream list of everything he’d like to see Patrick get and the other is what David considers to be the bare minimum he needs in order to live like an adult human and not a dirty racoon. 

Patrick is a continuous source of distraction, though. All the lifting and moving of heavy things has warmed him up to the point that he’s taken off the blue button up that looks remarkably like the blue button up he wore yesterday. And now there are arms to look at, forearms that ripple and biceps that clench and pop when he lifts heavy things, and how is David supposed to not look? The white t-shirt is damp and clinging to him in spots on his back, his strong, broad back. And his chest, dear god, his chest. David can make out his nipples through the thin t-shirt. Fucking hell. The man is walking porn. If he bends over to pick something up _one_ more time David’s going to lose it. How is Stevie not even noticing this? He glances at her several times thinking he can commiserate over this blatant display of pulchritude but she seems completely oblivious. David is beginning to think he isn’t going to make it through this day without shoving Patrick up against one of the bare walls of this apartment, and they are definitely not at the "shoving into walls" stage of this… whatever this is... between them yet.

Someone knocks at the door of the apartment and Patrick goes to see who it is. “Oh,” he hears Patrick say, and then he hears him make a startled sound and David looks up in time to see someone _kiss Patrick on the mouth._ What the fuck? The guy is tall, taller than David, and, wow, he’s _hot_. He’s all lumberjacky with his muscles and his flannel and the big hunk of wood he’s carrying. And he just _kissed Patrick_. It was a quick, hello kind of kiss, but it was on the mouth, and it was definitely familiar. Are they together? Who _is_ this guy? Has David completely misread Patrick? Is this David’s competition? If so, David is well and truly fucked. David turns his back to the door to try to get his face and his reaction under control. He pretends to be thoroughly distracted by the sketch of the living room layout he’s been working on. 

Behind him he hears the man say, “I brought you a little housewarming gift.”

“Wow,” Patrick says. “That’s a gorgeous end table. I had no idea you were working on it.”

“Wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if I’d let you see me working on them. There’s another one down in the truck still. Where do you want them?” 

“Anywhere is fine.”

David hears a soft thud and then the man says, “I’ll be right back with the other one.” And Patrick says, “I’ll come with you.”

Fuck, David thinks. Whoever this is, his relationship with Patrick is clearly more than casual. Fuck, fuck, fuckety-fuck. He shakes his hands out as if he can somehow flick off this terrible feeling. He needs to get out of here. He needs to leave. He’ll get it together and wait for Patrick to come back and then say his goodbyes like a normal person and get the hell out of here.

“Hey,” Stevie says from right next to him, scaring the shit out of him. 

“Jesus fuck!” he shouts. Then, “You scared me! You can’t just materialize next to me like some kind of witch like that.”

“Settle down, David. Everything is okay.” She looks like she wants to say more to him but she doesn’t. She just sort of hovers for a minute and then goes back to what she was doing. David goes back to pretending that he’s working on his sketch and actually works on getting his face under control before he has to show it to Patrick. 

When Patrick returns he’s alone and carrying the other end table.

“Where’s your friend?” David asks and he _tries_ not to have a tone in his voice but he knows he fails because Patrick’s eyes snap to him. 

“He left,” Patrick says simply and then he stutters his way through, “He’s not— we’re not— we _are_ friends. Partners.” His eyes go wide and he blushes. “I mean, like coworkers.” He scrubs a hand over the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable.

“Mm-hmm,” David says, and he can hear the tone in his own voice again. The fact that Patrick blushed is making him angry and he knows he has no right to feel that way about it, but there it is. “You seemed very friendly.”

“Jake and I are business partners.”

“Mm-hmm,” David says again. Jake. He looked like a _Jake._ David wonders why Patrick hadn’t introduced them. He’d just hustled _Jake_ back out the door and made sure _Jake_ didn’t come back up again. David is emphasizing the name like an epithet in his thoughts. David knows he has absolutely no claim on Patrick and no justification for behaving this way, but David doesn’t like how any of this feels. It feels distressingly familiar, like he’s lived this moment before, back in the life he can’t remember. He hates it. 

Patrick looks at David strangely for a moment and then, without breaking eye contact with David, he says, “Hey, Stevie? Why don’t we call it a day?”

There is a beat of silence and then Stevie says, “Uh-huh. Sure.” On her way out the door she adds, “I’m stopping downstairs and getting my wine before I go.”

Patrick chuckles. “Help yourself.”

“Oh, I will.” 

The door clicks shut and Patrick strides purposefully over to David, gently takes him by the hips, and says. “David, I need you to understand something.” 

“Um, okay.” David wasn’t expecting this and his heart is suddenly galloping in his chest. 

Patrick leans forward until his mouth is just a few inches from David’s and breathes, “I’m not interested in Jake.”

“Oh,” David whispers. And then Patrick’s mouth is on his and he melts into what is decidedly a _more_ than friendly kiss. Friends don’t usually use this much tongue, for instance. David’s uneasiness doesn’t disappear, but Patrick’s behavior makes it easier to ignore. His mouth is warm and insistent and his hands roam over David’s back and pull him closer. Just as David is beginning to re-evaluate whether or not it’s too soon for wall pushing, Patrick breaks the kiss, mouths his way to David’s ear, and then just stays there, getting control of his breathing and holding David tightly. 

After a long time he pulls back far enough to look into David’s eyes, but doesn’t let go of him. He’s clearly setting himself to say something difficult and David’s anxiety wakes up again. “Do you remember I told you that I’d only very recently figured out that I’m gay?”

David nods.

Patrick quirks a small, bashful smile. “That was Jake.”

“Oh!” David says. _Ohhhh,_ David thinks. And suddenly he feels wrong-footed again. The uneasiness Patrick almost kissed away comes roaring back full force. From what he’d seen of Jake, he was enough to wake up anyone’s libido, regardless of orientation. Why wouldn’t Patrick want to repeat that?

“And you liked it?”

Patrick nods.

“But you don’t want to do it again?”

Patrick shakes his head.

“I don’t understand.” 

Patrick laughs softly. “I don’t want to do it again with him.” He’s blushing again. It’s flowing down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. 

“Oh,” David says again. _Ohhhh,_ David thinks again. Christ. This has been a roller coaster of a conversation and he has no idea what to say at this point. 

Patrick doesn’t seem to need him to say anything, though. He takes David’s hand and winds their fingers together. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

So no wall pushing tonight. Probably for the best, all things considered.

They take the walk back to the motel slowly and David tells Patrick some of his ideas for the apartment and Patrick likes all of them. As they approach the Mayor’s house David laughs quietly to himself but Patrick notices and pulls them to a stop on the sidewalk. 

“What’s funny?” he says with a smile. 

David considers not telling him. Considers at least trying to play some of his cards close to his chest. But then he shrugs. _What the hell._ He gestures at the Welcome sign. “Some cultures believe that crossing paths with a cardinal means you are at the precipice of a— of a…” At the last moment it suddenly feels too scary to say the words “new relationship,” and put himself out there like that. It’s way too soon to say something like that. He regrets saying anything at all and doesn’t make eye contact with Patrick while he struggles to find a new end of his sentence. “Um, ah… the precipice of something new.” _Oh, god. That wasn’t any better._ He looks anywhere except at Patrick. He can’t bear to see how he’s reacting.

But Patrick tugs on his hand and pulls him close enough to kiss him softly and then press his cheek to David’s and make a pleased noise in his ear. Then he steps back again and says, “Did you know that male cardinals are bright red and the females are brown?”

David looks at the sign again and then back at Patrick and tries to control his smile, but fails, and it spreads over his face. “So those are…”

“Two male cardinals,” Patrick finishes. “Yep.” 

They stand there and grin at the sign, and at each other, for a minute and then continue the walk to the motel, hand in hand.


	7. We'll Share the Shelter (Patrick)

Patrick stretches his arms above his head, shudders through a pleasant full body stretch, and slowly blinks open his eyes. Everything is all wrong and for a moment he’s confused. He starts to lift his head and then he remembers and lets it fall back onto the pillow again. He’s not at Ray’s. He’s in the apartment. Last night was his first night sleeping in his new home. He can tell by the quality of the sunlight creeping through the windows that he slept _late_. It’s got to be after eight. He smiles and stretches again before curling onto his side and looking out at the apartment with satisfaction. No one is going to come bursting in at any moment, heedless of whether or not Patrick is dressed or possibly doing something private, and ask him what he wants for breakfast, or whether or not he wants to see this super adorable cat video someone just posted. He is completely alone and safe behind a locked door to which Ray Butani does not have a key. _No one_ has a key besides him. He has complete privacy for the first time in… well… _huh_ … he has complete privacy for the first time _ever_. He went from living with his parents, to living with a series of roommates in college, to living with Rachel, to living with Ray. He has never once lived alone. He lies there a few moments longer, reveling in the realization. Who is he when he’s not being someone’s son or fiancé or friend or employee? Who is he when it’s just him without someone else’s expectations and assumptions? 

Then, on impulse, he jumps out of bed and grins as he shucks off all of his clothes— sleep pants, t-shirt, boxers, all of it. He drops it all on the floor next to the bed and walks bare-assed to the bathroom. After he relieves himself and washes his hands, he pauses to smile at himself in the mirror over the sink. It’s probably ridiculous to walk around his apartment stark naked like this, but he wants to simply because he _can._ Maybe that’s something this new Patrick does. He walks back out to the kitchen and puts Van Morrison on the bluetooth and gets some coffee brewing. Van sings about how it’s a marvelous night for a moondance and the notes spin out into the apartment and bounce off the empty walls brightly. Patrick sings along and grooves his hips a little while he gets out a frying pan and some eggs and butter. He sets the pan on the stove and clicks the gas burner to life. The flame bursts high with a WHOOSH, startling him, and _Oh, hey,_ he thinks, looking down at himself. _This might not be a great combination._ He walks over to the box of kitchen linens his mother shipped to him as part of a housewarming gift and, sure enough, he finds an apron in there. He pulls it over his head and ties it. Better.

Van is singing Domino by the time Patrick finishes cooking and he loves this song. He’s singing along loudly and bopping his shoulders to the beat as he slides scrambled eggs onto a plate. He thinks he hears a noise so he lowers the volume on the music and tilts his head, listening. Someone knocks on the door again. He unlocks it and pulls it open to find David. “Hi!” Patrick says in surprise. “What are you doing here?” 

David’s face splits into an enormous toothy grin and Patrick is dazzled by it. He’s never seen such unguarded joy on David’s face. He’s always gorgeous but this smile makes him luminous. Incandescent. Patrick is struck dumb by it. He just stares at David, and the smile on his own face grows bigger in response. Then David’s smile changes. He looks almost… gleeful. Patrick is suddenly apprehensive. “Uh, what’s going on, David?”

David runs his eyes all the way down Patrick’s body and back up again, his grin getting impossibly larger with every passing second. Just as he meets Patrick’s eyes again Patrick realizes why David is grinning the way he’s grinning. 

“OH MY GOD,” he shouts and slams the door in David’s face. _“Oh, my god,”_ he whispers vehemently and claps both hands over his face. He just opened his door to David Rose while wearing nothing but an apron and a smile. “Oh. My. _God.”_

That repetition must have been louder again because David is laughing on the other side of the door in response. Patrick thunks his head on it a couple of times and groans in horrified embarrassment and David giggles. “Put on some clothes, Patrick, and let me in.”

“No.”

“Come on. We can totally pretend this never happened.”

“Really?” Patrick says hopefully.

He can hear snorting noises from David now and that’s not a good sign, but Patrick quickly pulls his clothes back on, shoves the apron into a box, and opens the door again. He doesn’t look anywhere near David’s face. He can’t bear to look him in the eye. He’s blushing so hard he must be glowing with it. “Morning,” he mumbles to the floor as David walks through the doorway. 

“Good morning,” David says brightly. 

David is trying very hard to control himself but amusement still vibrates in his voice and Patrick huffs in a combination of irritation and mortification. “Look, I was alone in my home and not expecting company and, you know…” he trails off, uncertain what his point was going to be and aware that he’s just making it worse. “I don’t have to explain myself. What can I do for you, David? Why are you here?”

“Is that coffee I smell?” 

Patrick blinks. “You came here for coffee?”

“No, but now that I am here, and I can smell that you clearly have coffee, may I have some? What they serve at the motel can’t even be classified as a beverage.”

He’s right. The substance Stevie brews at the motel is heinous. Patrick pours coffee into a mug and hands it to David. “Sorry, no sweetener.” He actually does have some sweetener somewhere but he’s not going to try to figure out which box it’s in. The faster David drinks his coffee and leaves, the faster he can die of mortification in peace.

David makes a face but sips the coffee anyway. “We do what we have to do.”

“So,” Patrick says and looks at David expectantly.

“Are those eggs?”

“Unbelievable,” Patrick says and then laughs. “Yes, they’re _my_ eggs.” David pouts a little and Patrick shakes his head at how easily he is going to let David manipulate him. New Patrick definitely has a thing for New David. “Would you like me to make you some eggs, David?”

He nods eagerly, “Yes, please.” And then a sly shadow of a smirk ghosts over his mouth. “You know—“

Patrick interrupts and talks over him. “David, I swear to god, if you ask me to put the apron back on I will kick you out of this apartment.”

David schools his face into seriousness and shakes his head, wide-eyed, as if to say _I would never._

Patrick is positive David goes back to grinning as soon as he turns his back to get more eggs. “Are you ever going to tell me why you’re here?”

“I had an idea about your store and I thought we could get breakfast at the cafe and talk about it. But breakfast is conveniently already here so...”

“You couldn’t have called?”

“I don’t have a phone. I assume it’s lost in the ocean somewhere.”

“There’s a phone in your room, David.”

David waves his hand. “Whatever.”

Patrick gives David the plate of eggs he already made and gets to work making more, trying not to think too much about the possibility that David wanted to see him so badly that he pretended not to know there’s a phone in his room; or about the fact that he’s here at a time he wouldn’t typically even be out of bed. He smiles to himself. “Must be some idea to have you up and moving so early.” 

“I think you should turn the general store into a specific store.” 

Patrick looks over his shoulder at him with raised eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.

“I mean,” David continues. “The town already has a traditional grocery store, right? Stevie told me about it. Brebner’s?”

Patrick nods. 

“Schitt’s Creek doesn’t need another store that sells general things.” He waves his hands in wide circles and then brings them together in front of himself. “It needs a store that sells specific things.”

Patrick remembers the eggs just in time and slides them off onto another plate. He joins David at the small table and mumbles, “Tell me more,” around his first bite. 

It takes David a while to walk Patrick through his vision for the store. At first he’s nervous, hesitant even, and twists his hands together while he speaks. But by the end he’s relaxed into it and is gesturing enthusiastically. When he finally coasts to a stop his anxiety catches up to him again and he plucks at his sleeves nervously. “So, uh, what do you think?”

Patrick reaches out to still David’s hands and smiles. “David, I think that sounds amazing.”

David bites down on a smile and squints like he’s not sure he believes him. “Really?”

“Really. Brilliant, even. Rebranding locally sourced products and selling them under a consignment arrangement? It’s a brilliant idea, David! It will build community and give us access to an established clientele. It will reduce our start-up costs and it’s completely sustainable.” And now it’s Patrick’s turn to talk for a long time about the infrastructure needs and contract possibilities and local vendors he already knows about. After a bit he realizes that David has a funny expression on his face. He looks like he’s stopped paying attention to what Patrick is saying but he’s still focused on Patrick himself and he looks… pleased. Patrick stops speaking for a moment and then tilts his head at him. “What?”

David fiddles with his sleeves again and then looks directly at Patrick and says, “You said _our_ start up costs.”

“Um.” Patrick’s heart starts pounding and the blushing will be a few seconds behind so he takes a deep breath and tries to stave it off. He fails, of course, and this particular blush has decided to announce itself in his ears. “I did?”

David nods. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Um,” Patrick says again. “Slip of the tongue?”

David squeezes a big smile down, twists it to one side of his mouth and raises a single eyebrow at Patrick. 

Patrick huffs a laugh and scrubs a hand over his face before turning serious. “Listen, David, you’ve come up with an incredible idea.” 

David shrugs one shoulder as if to negate the compliment. 

“It’s so smart, and it was your idea entirely.” He pauses and then says, “But given your situation, I can’t ask you to commit to partnering in it with me.” David’s face falls before Patrick can continue so he reaches for his hand again and rushes to finish. “But I _want_ to ask you to do that, David. And once you have your memories and your life back, I hope you will want to revisit this conversation with me.” 

David rolls his eyes and smiles as if Patrick is ridiculous, as if he can’t imagine not wanting that. 

Patrick returns the smile and forces himself not to think about how unlikely it is that David Rose will want to give up yachts and mansions for a small life in a tiny town with an average guy who is just figuring out he’s gay.

“Should we go to the store for a bit and work on it?” David asks. 

Patrick shifts uncomfortably. “I can’t today. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Okay.” David’s eyes slide away from his.

“I have to go to Good Wood today.”

David’s eyes bounce back and he smirks. “I’m sorry, _Good Wood?”_

Patrick chuckles. “Yeah, I tried to tell Jake it was maybe not the best name to use but I didn’t manage to change his mind.”

David’s smile disappears. “Oh. That’s the business you partner in with Jake?”

“Yep. I need to work on getting the quarterly taxes filed today as well as some other things.”

“Other things. Sure,” David says faintly and stands. “Well,” he says stiffly, “I should, uh, get out of here and let you get on with your day. Thank you for breakfast.”

Patrick can tell David is getting up in his head again and he hates it, hates seeing this strong, smart, beautiful man looking worried and insecure. He follows David to the door and presses a hand against it to keep David from opening it. David turns to face him, confused, and Patrick kisses him. It’s just a quick, soft press of lips, but David’s shoulders relax a bit. Then Patrick brushes a thumb over his cheekbone and kisses him again. This kiss is longer and ends with both of them breathing harder and smiling at each other.

“Can we talk later?” Patrick asks. 

David nods and smiles, pleased. “We can talk any time you like.”

%%%

Patrick is just finishing up with the tax filing when he hears the metal door to the studio clang shut and looks up to see Stevie walking toward him. 

“Well, hello there,” he says. 

Stevie waves at him and calls over her shoulder to the far corner of the studio, “Hey, Jake.”

Jake smiles and says, “Heeey, Stevie,” in a way that makes Stevie giggle. 

Patrick’s never heard Stevie giggle, ever. He raises his eyebrows and whispers, “Wooooow.”

Stevie glares at him. “Shut up.”

He just smirks at her. “Are you here for me, or for him? Because _I_ thought you were here for _me.”_

She peeks over her shoulder at Jake and then looks back to Patrick. “I’m here for two reasons. First, I wanted to touch base with you about what’s going on with the search for David’s family. I know Roland pulled you aside at breakfast yesterday. What did he tell you?”

“He said that he’s still struggling to actually speak with the family. They know approximately where the yacht is, but there’s no cell signal that far out to sea. They’ve radioed messages to the ship, but no one is sending messages back. They’re trying to think of anything else they can do to get word to them. Is there anything new?”

Stevie nods. “Roland stopped by the motel this morning and told me that they’ve managed to track down the family’s business manager, Eli… something or other, and they left a message with him as well. The business manager said he hasn’t heard from the family since they left port, but that he will relay the message the moment he hears from them.”

“It’s so strange that no one is responding to the radio messages.”

“It is.”

“Roland asked me to send DMs to all of Alexis Rose’s social media accounts,” Stevie continues. “But that’s probably useless. Without a cell signal she won’t get them. Plus, she’s got tons of followers so she’s unlikely to see them anyway.”

“There has to be something else we can do.”

Stevie shrugs. “I don’t know what. I think we just have to wait for them to get the messages or call the business manager.”

Patrick shrugs back. “I guess.” Then he smiles and says, “Is the second reason you’re here Jake?”

Stevie ignores him. “I think we should go out tonight. You, me…” she casts her eyes over her shoulder, “Jake…” she looks back at Patrick and grins wickedly, “David.”

Patrick laughs.

“And, you know, anyone else you’d like to invite. Is there anyone else you’d like to invite?” she asks innocently.

“You are not very subtle at all.”

“Look, I’m perfectly capable of making this happen for myself. I just thought you might like a night out too. Maybe like a _date.”_

“Uh-huh.”

Stevie shrugs and does, in fact, make it happen for herself. She raises her voice and says, “Hey, Jake, Patrick and I are talking about going to happy hour at the Wobbly tonight. You in?”

Jake doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing. “Sure.” 

“One down,” Stevie says as she heads toward the door. “One to go.” 

“You’re a menace!” Patrick calls after her.

“You’re welcome,” she says as the door slams shut behind her.

%%%

Patrick leans against the back of the booth and shakes his head at Stevie. “Huh-uh. No way. I’m not dancing.” Stevie had been very excited to discover there was live music at the Wobbly Elm and is itching to get on the dance floor. 

“Paaaatrick,” she whines, which is proof the shots she’s been doing are catching up with her. He shakes his head again and laughs at her so she pulls Jake out of the booth by his arm. “Dance with me,” she demands and Jake is happy to oblige. They disappear into the crowd, leaving David and Patrick alone in the booth. 

Patrick is two double whiskeys in and trying to nurse the third. He’s loose. Happy. A fourth drink is where he will start to get a little _too_ loose and happy, though, and he definitely doesn’t want to get sloppy tonight so he’s ordered water and he’s trying to make the third whiskey last.

David had been weird when they first arrived. Patrick assumed it was because of Jake and he hadn’t been sure whether or not to address it so he decided to wait and see what happened. David had mostly settled down as the night went on. He’d even started to get handsy with Patrick after a few drinks, scooting closer and petting Patrick’s arm and shoulder more and more frequently as he relaxed. 

Patrick has absolutely no complaints about being the object of David’s affection, and he’s now tipsy enough to be a little handsy himself. He smooths his palm over David’s thigh and then lets it linger there in a quietly possessive way. David’s small, pleased smile makes it clear he likes it so Patrick leaves his hand there, occasionally rubbing his thumb back and forth gently. Each time he does, it’s as if he’s doing something private and intimate to David and excitement coils a little tighter in his belly. David stops breathing every time Patrick’s thumb strokes his leg and each sharp little inhale from him sends heat prickling through Patrick’s body. After a while, he moves his hand back to his own lap to try to settle down a bit before what he is feeling becomes blatantly obvious. David glances at him and Patrick smiles reassuringly. 

The band finishes their song and the small crowd whoops and applauds. When they begin to play again it takes Patrick a moment to recognize the song because it’s been slowed down from its normal tempo. They’re playing an even more languid version of “Is This Love” with a changed bass line that makes the song feel sexy. 

_I want to love you,_

_I want to love you, and treat you right_

Patrick closes his eyes, smiles, and is opening his mouth to say, “I love this song,” when he feels the booth seat rise up a little under him. He blinks his eyes open to find David standing next to the table holding out a hand. “Let’s dance,” he says in a deep and deliberate voice. A shiver ripples down Patrick’s spine and he takes David’s hand and follows him to the dance floor. 

When David finds their spot and turns to face him, Patrick stands awkwardly with his hands partially raised and gives David a shy smile. “I’ve never done this before… with a guy.” 

David slides his hands over Patrick’s shoulders and steps close to him. He chuckles a little and says, “I have no idea if I’ve ever done it before either, but put your arms around me and we’ll figure it out.” 

Goosebumps prickle Patrick’s skin where David’s fingers brush lightly over the back of his neck and his stomach swoops as he puts his hands on David’s hips and begins to sway with him. After a moment he glides his hands around to David’s back, pulling him closer, and tucks his face against David’s neck, where it seems to fit naturally. He feels more than hears the pleased, rumbly hum David makes in response as they press against each other from chest to hip. Patrick’s body responds to that sound immediately. David is going to be able to feel how much Patrick likes this _very_ soon. He should step back a little but he really, really doesn’t want to… so he doesn’t. 

_We'll be together, with a roof right over our heads_

_We'll share the shelter, of my single bed_

They’re barely moving to the music at all. The song is just an excuse to be close. David is lightly dragging the pads of his fingers through the hair on the back of Patrick’s neck and it feels so good. Patrick keeps David close with one hand on his back and slides the other hand under the hem of David’s shirt and around to his hip. He uses his thumb to lightly stroke the soft skin just above his belt line. A shiver courses through David, and then he feels how much David likes this too and he smiles into the warm skin of David’s neck. 

They stay like that for the rest of the song and don’t notice when it ends and the band segues into an up tempo song. The people around them break apart and start bouncing to the beat but Patrick and David only part far enough to be able to look into one another’s eyes. David’s are dark and wide with anticipation. Patrick inhales deeply and leans forward. Just as their lips meet one of the dancers careens into them and knocks them sideways. 

“What the _fuck,”_ David hisses and glares at the person, who is too drunk to notice they’ve ruined a moment, and who turns out to be Stevie. Of course.

“Heeeyy!” She throws an arm around each of them, “It’s _you!”_ She grins at them. “You guys are _cute.”_

Patrick laughs at this loose and friendly version of Stevie he’s never seen before. “And _you_ are drunk,” he says. 

She nods and looks at him in the very serious way of a drunk person trying to seem less drunk. “Maybe a little bit.” Then she breaks into another grin. “I want pizza! Does anyone else want pizza?” She turns in a little circle until she spots Jake and points at him, “Do you want pizza?”

“I want pizza,” David says hopefully. 

“Guess we’re getting pizza,” Patrick says.

“Let’s go back to Patrick’s new apartment!” Stevie exclaims. “I’m not fit for public pizza right now.” Then she stumbles toward the exit, confident the guys will follow. 

%%%

A couple of hours later the pizza has been eaten and Patrick is standing at the door of his apartment accepting an unexpected hug goodbye from a still tipsy Stevie as well as a friendly goodbye kiss— guess we’re _still_ doing this— from Jake. He’s gonna have to talk to Jake about these casual kisses. 

He shuts the door behind them and turns toward the sofa to see how David is reacting to all the affection being aimed at Patrick, but David isn’t there. He’s moved and is sitting on Patrick’s bed now and smiling at him. He pats the spot next to him in invitation and his smile grows a little wider. 

Patrick takes a few steps toward him unthinkingly and then stops dead, breath caught in his throat. Something about David sitting on his bed like that is... suddenly he has a vision of his childhood bedroom and David sitting on that bed instead, and he feels his whole body flush. What would it have been like to know David in high school? To bring him up to his room to study for a test. To sit next to him on that bed, in his room, surrounded by the childhood things he hadn’t yet given up, knees bumping, giggling and trading glances when each thought the other wasn’t looking. To find himself sharing his first kiss ever with a boy he had been crushing on for weeks. For the inductive reasoning of his first kiss to have equaled “I like boys” from the very beginning.

Suddenly David sits up straight and looks worried. “I’m sorry. Is this not… I shouldn’t have…”

“No, no, David.” Patrick quickly crosses to the bed and sits next to him. “It’s fine. I was just… thinking… is all.”

David still looks anxious. “Thinking about what?”

Patrick scoots forward a bit, until their knees are bumping, and then he puts a hand on David’s leg and grins at him. “A boy I like is sitting on my _bed,_ David.”

David giggles briefly and rolls his eyes.

“This is all still pretty new to me, you know,” Patrick says, staring at his hand on David’s leg and rubbing gently with his thumb again. “And it all _feels_ like that… feels new. Feels like my first time.” 

He looks up into David’s eyes again and David doesn’t look away, but he looks uncertain and blinks rapidly for a moment before seeming to make a decision. “It feels like my first time, too.”

Patrick tilts his head and considers that.

“I mean,” David says, “I don’t think it is. I think… I think I’ve done this a lot, actually. But… I don’t think I have a lot of experience… being… feeling…” He trails off and huffs a little in frustration and then says the next part quickly and with his eyes clenched shut. “I care about you and respect you and think you’re... nice.” He opens his eyes and squints hesitantly at Patrick. “So, in a way, it’s like it’s… new… for both of us.” He must be able to see how his words have affected Patrick because his face relaxes and he slides a small smile to one side of his mouth. 

Patrick is touched. “Thank you, David,” he says, but then the sincerity is too much and he can’t resist another opportunity to tease him. “But isn’t _everything_ new for you right now?”

“Hey!” David says and glares at him. “I was trying to be _nice.”_

“You’re a good person.”

“It’s just— I said _nice.”_

“I know,” Patrick says, staring at David’s mouth, no longer in the mood to tease.

He’s not sure who moves first, but in the next moment they’re holding one another’s faces and kissing, softly at first, and then with increasing desperation, and kissing someone has _never_ felt like this before. He wants David’s mouth everywhere. He wants it with an intensity he’s never experienced and almost can’t process. He’s overwhelmed but the words _more, more, more_ are running in his head in a loop. And tangled up with that want for David’s body is a desire for David himself— his thoughts, his feelings, his humor, his intelligence, his fears, his secrets— Patrick wants all of it, wants all of him. 

David falls back on the bed and pulls Patrick down on top of him. “You feel so good,” he murmurs into Patrick’s mouth and chases the words with his tongue. 

Patrick moans and presses his erection against David’s thigh. David’s cock is pressing into his lower belly, so he raises himself up onto his hands over him and adjusts his hips, dragging his cock against David’s body. David opens his legs and when their erections line up between them Patrick drops to his elbows and they both moan into a frantic kiss. His entire world narrows to the heat of David’s mouth and the glorious friction of their hips rocking against each other, and it’s _everything_ … until suddenly it’s not enough. Patrick whines and writhes and drives his hips down against David, and David grabs his ass and thrusts up against him even harder, and Patrick can feel his orgasm spiraling up to the point of no return. 

_“Fuck,”_ he gasps, tearing himself away from David’s body and rolling to the side. “Fuck.”

“Wha--?” David pants, chest heaving. “What’s wrong?”

Patrick flops an arm over his eyes, embarrassed and still trying to catch his breath. “I was going to come.”

“Oh,” David says. “Well, that’s… that’s okay.” Patrick peeks out from under his arm and finds David smiling at him. “Isn’t that kind of the point?”

“I don’t want to come like that our first time, David. I want… more than that. More than just coming in my pants before I even get to see you.” 

David beams at him. “We can do— we can do whatever you want, Patrick.” He rolls onto his side and kisses him gently. “However you want. I just want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you too, David, but we— I think maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe we should wait.”

David sits up. “What? Why?”

“David.” Patrick says and then sits up too.

“Is this about my memory again?” David huffs irritably. “I _told_ you. I’m perfectly capable of understanding the possibilities and making a choice for myself. It’s insulting for you to— to— I don’t know… think you know better or whatever. I don’t need you to protect me.” 

Patrick reaches out and takes hold of the hand David is waving around in agitation. “David.” Patrick looks at their clasped hands for a few moments, working up his courage to say this in plain words. Then he looks David in the eye. “I like you. I like you a lot.”

David softens a little. “I like you, too.” Then he rolls his eyes and does a little wiggle. _“Obviously.”_

Patrick chuckles and then looks away as he says, “I think I could become serious about you pretty easily, David.” David freezes and Patrick looks him in the eye again when he says, “I’m not trying to protect you, David. I’m trying to protect _me.”_

David just blinks at him. 

“Well. If I’m being honest, I suppose I’m trying to protect both of us. David, what happens when you remember yourself? What if you get your memories back and it turns out there’s someone else? Or— or you don’t feel the same way… about stuff. About me?”

David still doesn’t say anything.

“What if sleeping with me becomes something you regret? I don’t think I could… David, I think we…” 

“Patrick,” David interrupts, “I could never regret you.” His eyes widen and Patrick can see he’s surprised himself by saying that. That he’s embarrassed by it. He kisses Patrick again, quickly, chastely, almost like a distraction. Then he continues, “And I cannot imagine anyone is out there waiting for me. I mean, it’s been weeks and nothing. Apparently no one gives a fuck, Patrick.” He can see David is trying to be angry rather than hurt, but it’s not quite working. “I don't know what carnage I inflicted in my life to deserve this. I must have been Dracula.” He waves the hand Patrick isn’t holding dismissively, “Or a spin instructor.” 

Patrick huffs a laugh, but he hates that David feels like no one cares. Hates that David assumes he’s done something to deserve it. “David,” he says, and his voice is shaking a little. “If you were mine and you went missing, _nothing_ would stop me finding you.”

A small half-sob, half-laugh escapes David and he blinks furiously for a moment, getting control back, and then throws himself into Patrick’s arms, pushing him back down onto the bed with the force of it and kissing him desperately. Desire instantly flares hot again and Patrick groans under the onslaught of David’s mouth. David yanks Patrick’s shirt out of his pants, shoves it up and starts unbuckling Patrick’s belt. 

Patrick clenches his eyes shut and grabs David’s hands. “David,” he whispers, his ability to be cautious or logical about any of this is fading fast. 

“Please,” David says, letting go of Patrick’s belt and kissing him again and again, softly now. Gently. One hand holding himself up over Patrick’s body and the other stroking Patrick’s face as he kisses him, kisses him. 

“David,” he breathes, infusing the single word with his worry as well as his desire. He tries to move and David’s hand flies to Patrick’s hip and lightly holds him in place. He’s not forcing him. Patrick could easily roll away if he wanted to, but David seems to be working himself up to say something, so Patrick waits, watching his face clench as he tries to find his words. Patrick wants to give David everything. And he wants it for himself, too, so much. But what if this David, _his_ David, and the David that remembers everything can’t coexist? What happens when he truly understands he doesn’t have to live a small life in a small town with a guy like Patrick? 

David’s words when they finally come are punctuated by quick, wet gasps as he tries to control his emotions. “The only time I don’t feel afraid— the only time I feel okay— the only time I feel safe and, like— like I’m _real_ , is with you, Patrick.” He kisses him again, but it’s tentative now, as if he’s anticipating rejection. 

“Oh, god,” Patrick moans. He can’t resist David’s plea to feel safe and real. He’s not that strong. And he no longer cares whether or not it’s right, or whether or not they’ll regret it later. He barely even cares that he doesn’t actually know what to do. He wants David, and more than that, he wants to give David what he needs. He wants to show him how much someone does care. How much _he_ cares. Patrick surges up, grabs the back of David’s neck, and kisses him deeply. He pushes David over and David rolls onto his back, pulling Patrick on top of him and moaning into his mouth. 

Patrick settles between David’s legs again and braces himself on one elbow. With the other hand he pushes David’s hair back from his forehead and stares into his eyes. They glow darkly with heat and want and Patrick whimpers as he crashes their mouths together. Their teeth clack together briefly until Patrick changes his angle and then it’s perfect. David kisses like his life depends on it and Patrick feels like his own might. 

“David,” he pants between kisses, “I’m here… I’ve got you…” He sucks on David’s neck, bites the cord of muscle where it connects to his shoulder and then soothes it with his tongue. “You’re safe… this is real… _we_ are real.” That last one is for himself. He needs to believe it. He kisses David’s mouth again, tongue thrusting, desperate for more. “God, I want you…”

David bucks up into him, wrapping his legs around Patrick and whining, “Yes, Patrick. _Please.”_

“How… I don’t know… I’ve never...”

“Do you have lube?” David gasps.

“I— yeah.” Patrick starts to move off David but then looks at David’s wet, swollen lips, and groans and kisses him again instead, unable to resist. 

David grabs his ass and thrusts up against him involuntarily once more before breaking the kiss and pushing him away. “Get the lube, Patrick. And take off your clothes.”

Patrick blinks at him for a moment, dizzy and lost, staring at David’s mouth. When he starts to sway forward again David puts a hand on his chest to stop him. “Lube,” he says impatiently. “And clothes. Now, Patrick.”

“Right.” Patrick tears himself away and tries to do both things at once, which leads to him hobbling back to David, jeans stuck halfway down his thighs, shirt partly unbuttoned, and lube clutched in one hand. “Got it,” he says. 

David, who has managed to strip down to his t-shirt and boxers, laughs at the sight, kisses Patrick, and tosses the lube onto the bed before turning serious and reaching for Patrick’s shirt buttons. “Can I help?”

Patrick swallows and nods.

David’s fingers ghost over Patrick’s chest as he unfastens the remaining buttons, kissing and licking each new patch of skin as it’s revealed. Once the shirt is gone, he sits on the edge of the bed and pulls Patrick forward until he’s standing between David’s knees. He pushes Patrick’s jeans the rest of the way down and tugs one leg up to pull them off, along with his sock, and then does the same on the other side. When he sits up again his eyes are immediately drawn to Patrick’s cock, which is straining at the fabric of his briefs. He stares at it for a moment and licks his lips. Then his gaze travels up Patrick’s body. David’s eyes are black and bottomless. “Can I touch you, Patrick?”

“Yes,” Patrick breathes. “Yes. God. Please.” 

David gently traces the outline of Patrick’s cock with his fingers and Patrick clenches his hands into fists and hums with the effort of simply standing still. He wants to thrust against David’s hand so badly. Then David slides off the bed and down to his knees, and when he leans forward and mouths at Patrick through the fabric, Patrick moans and has to grab David’s shoulders to keep his balance. David drags his tongue along the skin just above the waistband of his briefs and when his chin brushes Patrick’s aching cock Patrick begins to pant. “David. _Fuck.”_

He slides a finger under Patrick’s waistband and looks up again, pausing for permission. Patrick nods jerkily and then clenches his eyes shut as David removes them swiftly. 

David is quiet for a long moment and when Patrick opens his eyes again David is looking at him. “You’re gorgeous,” he says, and then drags the flat of his tongue up Patrick’s cock from base to tip. 

“Jesus _Christ,”_ Patrick practically shouts. His legs are shaking. He should probably be concerned about his ability to continue remaining upright but he’s only capable of trying to process the sight of David’s wet mouth, and the sensation of his lips closing over the head of Patrick’s cock, and the heaven that is his tongue swirling, and his mouth sucking. 

“Oh god, oh god,” Patrick gasps. It’s never felt like this before, never been this good. He thinks he might die or come, or both. When David sucks him all the way down Patrick moans and wobbles alarmingly on his feet. 

David grabs his hips to steady him and pops off. “Hey,” he says. “Let’s sit you down.” 

David guides Patrick until he’s sitting on the bed and then dips his head down to get his mouth back on him, but Patrick pushes on his shoulders, stopping him. “Wait,” he gasps. “Wait.” He pulls at David’s t-shirt clumsily. “You’re still mostly dressed. I need… ” he trails off and tugs David’s shirt off, tossing it to the side, and then runs his hands over David’s chest, scratching his fingers through all the thick, dark hair. “I need to see you. Can you stand up?” David complies and before Patrick can think too much about the urge, he presses his face to David’s stomach and wraps his arms around him, pulling him close. He rubs his face back and forth slowly, breathing in David’s scent and enjoying the way the hair on David’s belly catches a little in the stubble on his chin. He pulls back and dips a finger under the waistband of David’s underwear and David helps to push them down and then he kicks them away. 

Patrick stares. David’s cock is only inches away from his face. It’s thick and flushed, the tip glistening. Patrick’s never been this close to another man’s dick. He wasn’t sure how he would react, but he’s… uh… he’s reacting positively. _Definitely_ positively. He swallows the excess saliva that unexpectedly floods his mouth. David’s big. He wraps his hand around him, leans forward and licks hesitantly, and then again with his tongue flattened. He groans a little. He likes it. Likes how warm and heavy David feels on his tongue. Likes how David smells. Likes how he tastes. He opens his mouth and takes him in a little, barely more than the head. He sucks experimentally and David shudders and sighs so Patrick sucks a little harder and moves his head up and down a few times. He wants to do more but he’s feeling nervous and unsure. He wants to be good for David. He wants to make him feel as good. 

As if sensing his anxiety, David reaches down to cup his face and steps back a bit so that he slides out of Patrick’s mouth. “That feels so good, Patrick, but can we lie down together like we were before? I still want to feel you on top of me.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything. He just scoots back and stretches out on the bed. 

David squirts some lube into his hand and stands at the foot of the bed stroking himself and looking at Patrick. 

Patrick bites his lip and shifts his hips restlessly. “God,” he says, eyes traveling over David’s body. “You’re gorgeous.” He maintains eye contact with David and it feels brave somehow to lie here, exposed, and let David see how much he wants him.

David smiles. “You’re gorgeous, too, Patrick.” Then he gets another handful of lube. This time he smooths it over his lower stomach and the tops of his thighs. He crawls onto the bed and spreads what’s left on his hand over Patrick’s cock, jacking him gently. 

Patrick fists his hands in the bedspread and hisses, “Fuck, David. That feels— that feels so good.” 

“Mmm,” David agrees and then rolls onto his back and tugs on Patrick’s arm until he moves on top of him. David opens his legs and now they’re back in the position they were in before, but this time there are no layers of clothing and everything is hot and hard and so, so slippery. 

Patrick groans and drops his head to David’s shoulder. “So good, David. So good.” He begins to rock his hips and it’s perfect. 

“Kiss me, Patrick.” David says, and Patrick does. He kisses him and kisses him. David grabs Patrick’s ass and presses their hips together, and David’s cock feels amazing sliding next to his own. The scratch of David’s body hair is exquisite, and the way his fingers are digging into his ass is perfect. They’re both thrusting and gasping into each other’s mouths between messy kisses, and Patrick gets lost in it. He floats higher and higher. He wants to come, and he never wants to come, and he _has_ to come, and then suddenly he’s yanked fully into his body again as his orgasm slams through him and his entire body stiffens and spasms while he shouts David’s name. He buries his face in David’s neck, biting him hard, and is still shuddering and panting through the end of his orgasm while David thrusts against him, chanting, “Oh god oh god oh god.” Then he makes a long, low keening noise and joins him.

%%%

It takes a long time for Patrick to come down again and breathe normally. He doesn’t want to move, possibly ever again, but he adjusts to take some of his weight off David and kisses him. He wants to tell David how intense and amazing that was but suddenly he feels shy about it, so instead he goes to get a washcloth and towel and cleans them both up. Then he gets them some water and then, finally, he crawls back into bed and lies next to David. He gives him a little space in case he needs it, but David immediately tucks himself into Patrick’s side and begins tracing lazy patterns over his chest. Patrick smiles into David’s hair and begins running his hand up and down David’s back slowly. They remain like this, not speaking, for several minutes. 

When he can’t stand his own thoughts any longer, Patrick says, “Was that… okay?”

David gives a surprised laugh and tilts his face up to look at Patrick. “Seriously?”

Patrick flushes and shrugs a little.

“Did you _hear_ the sound I made?” David rolls his eyes, but then he leans up to kiss Patrick’s neck softly and presses himself closer against Patrick’s side, and Patrick smiles.

“Um, what about you?” David says. “Was that… good? For you?”

 _“Very_ good,” Patrick says firmly and thinks to himself that he’s understating quite a bit. That had been the best sex Patrick has ever had and that’s kind of a lot to process.

“Good.” David says, and Patrick can feel the smile David is trying to hide by pressing it into his chest.

A few more minutes pass silently and then David quietly says, “Can I stay? Here. With you?” 

Patrick reaches over and uses his fingers to gently lift David’s face. His brow is furrowed and his eyes slide away from Patrick’s anxiously, as if he’s afraid to hear the answer. “David,” Patrick says softly, with feeling. “Yes.” He kisses him then, lazy and satisfied. And when he pulls back he whispers, “Please stay,” and pretends not to notice that David’s eyes have tears pooling in them. 

He lends David a t-shirt and a pair of sleep pants that are comically short on him, and they lie on their backs side-by-side in the dark and talk for a while. Just as he’s drifting off he feels David’s hand slide into his and wind their fingers together.

“Goodnight, Patrick.”

“Goodnight, David.”


	8. A Sprinkle of Cocoa Powder (David)

David surfaces from sleep slowly. His head feels fuzzy and strange. It’s not a hangover. He’s pretty sure he didn’t drink enough for that. But it feels close to one. There’s a faint pulsing in his temples that could become a headache. Drinking some water will probably fix it. He thinks about getting up to fetch some but he’s so warm and comfortable. Patrick is tucked up behind him and his breath ghosts over David’s neck, just behind his ear, with each exhale. It makes him shiver a little in a very pleasant way. Patrick’s arm is hooked over him, keeping him close. David smiles to himself, liking how it feels to be claimed by Patrick, even in his sleep.

David threads their fingers together and pulls him tighter around him, as if he’s a blanket David can snuggle under. He drifts for a little while, not fully awake or asleep, thinking about the night before and about how good he feels here, like this, with Patrick. And then he thinks about how much fun he has hanging out with Stevie; how much he likes her sarcasm and bone dry sense of humor. They get each other in a way that feels easy, like pieces that were meant to go together clicking into place. He thinks about his list of things he knows and he has something he wants to add to it. 

  1. _I think I could be happy here._



He dozes again for a while and when he comes back to consciousness he hears himself making a humming sound and he’s pushing his ass back against Patrick’s erection, and… and that’s when he wakes up enough to realize what he’s doing and how achingly hard he is. He has no idea how long he’s been sort of rocking against Patrick like this but Patrick is wedged pretty snugly in the cleft of his ass, and this might be a lot for him. This might be too much. He opens his eyes wide and holds himself very, very still, trying to assess whether or not Patrick is awake and, if he isn’t, what the odds are of extricating himself from this without waking him up. He squeezes his eyes shut and begins pulling his hips away very slowly.

He’s barely moved at all when Patrick grabs his hip to halt his movement. He mumbles something sleep hoarse and unintelligible into David’s shoulder but the way he pushes his cock back against David’s ass is unmistakable. Patrick is awake and he’s enjoying this. _Thank God._ David smiles and settles back against him. Patrick is so hard, and he feels so good. Patrick thrusts forward sharply and they both gasp and begin moving against one another with more intent. He begins sucking on David’s neck and scraping his teeth over the same spot until David is panting. 

“Patrick,” David whispers breathlessly, “where’s the lube?”

Patrick’s breathing kicks up another notch and he and reaches to the nightstand behind him for the bottle, which results in him unintentionally thrusting hard against David again as he bends back and David’s not sure because he’s very distracted, but he thinks the sound Patrick makes then is a _growl_ and, fuck, that’s hot. David kicks the blankets away, pushes his briefs off, and holds his hand out for the lube. Patrick hands it over and then yanks his own underwear off and tosses them across the room. David quickly and sloppily covers himself and the inside of his thighs with lube and hands the bottle back to Patrick. “Use a lot,” he pants.

Once he’s finished, David reaches back between his own legs and gently guides Patrick between his thighs. After a bit of direction and a couple of adjustments, Patrick gets the hang of it and begins building a long, slow rhythm. When he reaches down and wraps a slick hand around David, they both shudder and sigh. David sets up his own rhythm of thrusting into Patrick’s hand and once their movements sync up, _god,_ everything about this is amazing. Patrick bites and kisses as much of David’s neck and shoulder as he can reach. His stubble and teeth are a perfect sharp counterpoint to the sweet slide of his cock between David’s thighs. The gorgeous sounds Patrick is making are getting louder and his rhythm is speeding up and David can feel his own orgasm starting to build. He’s _so_ close. They both are. And it’s perfect, this exquisite need and the inevitability of release rushing toward them. He reaches up to grab the back of Patrick’s neck and twists his own head around as far as he can, desperate to get his mouth on Patrick’s. The kiss is messy and uncoordinated and soon they’re just panting and moaning against one another’s lips as they spiral up and up toward orgasm. Then he’s coming and keening through it again, and it pushes Patrick over the edge and he thrusts and shouts incoherently, their voices mingling and vibrating together in the small space between their open mouths. 

Afterward, they lie there trembling and panting for a minute. David’s neck still twisted around, his fist clenched in Patrick’s hair. “Wow,” he whispers breathlessly.

Patrick blows out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

Then David grimaces and pulls his hips away a little. “I don’t want to move, but I really kind of need to...”

Patrick chuckles. “I think we both need showers at this point.”

David goes first and by the time he turns the shower off again he can smell coffee and hear Tina Turner singing, which makes him smile. He likes this song a lot. Most people don’t notice how great the lyrics are to this one. He dresses quickly and sings along softly as he walks out of the bathroom, smiling and shimmying his shoulders a little. “Come to me, come to me, wild and wired.”

He stops dead in his tracks at the sight in front of him. Patrick is wearing nothing but his boxer briefs and the apron from yesterday, and he’s standing at the stove flipping pancakes, and singing along with Tina, and it’s possible David is going to fall in love with this man... if he hasn’t already. _Oh, god._ He shuts that thought down before it paralyzes him and goes back to ogling Patrick.

“Well, hello,” he says happily, eyes sweeping down Patrick’s body and back up again. 

Patrick looks back at him over his shoulder and grins, “Hello, Handsome. Good timing. I just finished.” He clicks off the burner, picks up a steaming coffee mug from the counter and walks over to David with it. He kisses him sweetly, sucking on his lower lip just a little before pulling back. “Mmmm,” he hums as he does it. He presses the coffee mug into David’s hands. “I think I got it right. Two sweeteners and a sprinkle of cocoa powder.”

The words _sprinkle of cocoa powder_ echo strangely in David’s head, bouncing around with the music and Tina’s voice, and suddenly he feels dizzy and nauseated. He’s sweating and shaking. “Not a spoonful,” he mumbles quietly.

“What?” Patrick says, still smiling and looking at him like he’s going to kiss him again.

“Not a dollop.” His words are slurred now. “Not a pinch.” He staggers and the coffee mug crashes to the floor. Patrick reacts quickly, grabbing his arms and guiding him to a chair. “Not a soupçon.” David’s is breathing too fast now. He’s starting to hyperventilate. “A— a— a _fucking sprinkle.”_ He starts to cry. “Patrick,” he gasps. “Patrick, I can’t breathe.”

Patrick drops to his knees in front of the chair and pulls David into his arms. “I’ve got you. I’m here, David. It’s okay.” With one hand he cups the back of David’s head and presses it to his shoulder. With the other, he strokes soothingly up and down David’s spine. “I’m here. It’s okay. Breathe.” David is sobbing now and clutching Patrick tightly. “Shhhh,” Patrick soothes. “It’s okay. Breathe, David. I’ve got you.” He keeps repeating those words and rubbing David’s back.

He feels like he might faint and then suddenly his vision whites out, like someone hit him in the face with a bright spotlight, and then, just like that, he remembers. One second he doesn’t, and the next second he does. He gasps and whispers, “Oh my god.”

“What?” Patrick says, voice worried and tense. “What is it, David?”

“He pushed me,” David breathes.

“What? David, you’re scaring me a little.” Patrick pulls back so he can cup David’s face in his hands. He kisses him softly and then searches his eyes, brow furrowed. “What’s happening? What are you talking about?”

David feels crushed by the weight of remembering his old life all at once, his sad, angry, unhappy life, full of nice things and terrible people. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want any of it. He doesn’t want to remember. All this time he thought he wanted to remember, thought he needed to remember, and he should have been wishing for the opposite. A wild, desperate thought flashes through his mind. What if he just pretends to still not remember? He could stay here, like this, with Patrick and Stevie, and be happy and never be that old David ever again. He’d have to give up all the money and the lifestyle but none of it ever made him happy anyway. Well. Almost none of it. The longing he suddenly feels for his clothes is absurdly intense. But Patrick— Patrick makes him so happy, and that happiness doesn't cost anything except a piece of his heart that he might not get back again, which is terrifying, but he wants it. He wants it so much more than he wants boats and mansions and trips to exotic places. 

Even as he’s thinking it, he knows it’s useless. He won’t get to have it. Giving his heart to someone never works out for him. He’ll end up crushed yet again and trying to console himself with nice things, and then using whatever he can to numb himself to the terrible people. He starts to cry again, harder this time. 

“Oh, baby, come here,” Patrick says in a pained voice, drawing him into his arms again, and the unexpected endearment pierces David’s heart. He can’t remember ever feeling this cared for before. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s a terrible, damaged person and he’s said and done so many awful things, and suddenly he remembers that some of them were awful things he said and did to _Patrick._ Fuck. He’s ashamed of how he behaved in the past, and also embarrassed by how open he’s been with Patrick in the present. He hasn’t left himself any walls to hide behind.

Patrick stops trying to get him to talk and just holds him, murmuring comforting words, wiping his tears and kissing him. Beautiful, patient Patrick. This sweet, short time with him here is going to haunt David once he’s back in his old life. He’s going to miss him so much.

After a long time, David reaches for his courage, finding only the barest threads, but he grabs hold of them and sits back, putting space between them. “I remember,” he says quietly.

“You remember...?” Patrick says, still not understanding.

“I remember,” David repeats. “I remember who I am. My life. I remember.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, mouth dropping open in surprise. Then David watches silently while a parade of emotions march across his face as he processes what David’s said. “Are you—” he starts to reach for David and then stops himself, hand hovering in the air and then dropping again. “Are you okay?”

David gives a watery laugh. “Obviously not.” He glances down at himself and takes in the loose, faded jeans and the ancient t-shirt and shudders. “What the fuck am I even wearing, Patrick? Ew.”

Patrick barks a short laugh without humor. “Definitely not your own clothes.”

Something occurs to him then and he feels the panic start to rise again. “Patrick. All this time… why did you pretend not to know who I was?” Oh, god. Has he been the butt of a joke this entire time? Was this some sort of weird revenge plot to get back at David for how he behaved about the closet? Patrick gets David to fall in love with him and breaks his heart or steals his money or something? Was it some sort of plot to teach the rich asshole a lesson about being a better human?

Patrick twitches his shoulders uncomfortably. “I didn’t _want_ to pretend not to know who you were. The doctors that treated you said it could be bad for your recovery if we told you about yourself. They told us not to tell you anything, that you needed to recover your memories for yourself.” His breath catches and for a moment David thinks Patrick might start to cry himself. “I’m so sorry, David. I did my best to make sure nothing happened that you might regret once you remembered yourself. I tried really hard, but I wanted you so much.”

David is so shocked that he can’t even speak.

Patrick grabs his hands. “I’m sorry, David. It was selfish.” 

David is still so surprised by this response that he just sits there, staring at Patrick and trying to make sense of the words. Patrick is sorry. It’s not a joke. It’s… real. Patrick actually cares for him. It seems impossible. He’s quiet for so long that Patrick repeats himself. “I’m sorry, David.” He cups David’s cheek in the palm of his hand and kisses him and David suddenly gasps for air, not having realized he was holding his breath. 

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Patrick. I was such an asshole to you and… oh, god. I cheated you out of payment on the closet. I’ll pay you as soon as I can, I promise. I’m so sorry.” He’s trying so hard to stop crying but the tears just keep coming.

“David,” Patrick soothes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s okay.”

“Why— why don’t you hate me, Patrick? I was awful. I _am_ awful.”

“I definitely wasn’t fond of you when it first happened.” Patrick kisses him again, slow and sweet, and then smiles at him. “But I got over it.” 

Patrick’s teasing is almost as comforting as his kisses and David laughs a little through his tears. 

“And,” Patrick continues, “you are not awful.” He kisses him again. “In fact, you might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Don’t say that,” David whispers. “Don’t say that if it isn’t true. I can’t…”

“It _is_ true, David.” 

David grabs Patrick and pulls him into a hug, unable to do anything except clutch at him and try to believe what he’s said. He cries again for a while and Patrick holds him until he’s finished. 

He finally relaxes his grip on Patrick, pulls back a little, and notices Patrick’s position on the floor. “Oh, god, Patrick, your knees must hurt.”

Patrick stands up. “I don’t mind, David, but let’s go sit on the sofa instead.” Patrick walks over and sits down with his back braced against the arm of it. He stretches one leg out and pats the space in front of him. “Is this okay? Or would you prefer a bit of space right now?”

David smiles and blinks back fresh tears and then crawls between Patrick’s legs and lays back-to-chest, and tucks his head under Patrick’s chin. Patrick wraps his arms around David and both men exhale a big breath. 

He shifts around onto his side so he can wrap his arms around Patrick’s middle. “Can we just lay here like this for a minute? Can we just pretend nothing has changed for a little while?”

“Of course, David.” Patrick kisses the top of his head. “We can do this for as long as you need.”

David is wiped out from the… everything… the sex and the emotion and the remembering and the crying… he’s so, so tired. He closes his eyes and listens to the slow beat of Patrick’s heart under his ear and lets it soothe him. 

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but the next thing he knows he’s jerking awake and Patrick’s arms tighten around him. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” 

“I’m sorry. How long did I sleep?”

“Not long. A half-hour maybe”

David burrows his face into Patrick’s chest for a moment, briefly giving in to the urge to keep ignoring things, and then says, “My family. Have— Did—” His throat is tightening with tears again so he clears it and thinks _enough with the crying already._ He tries again. “Have they not tried to find me?”

Patrick is quiet a moment too long so David begins nodding his head. “That tracks, actually. Once, when I was six, I ran away from home and it took them a couple of days to notice, and then a couple more days to come find me.”

“David,” Patrick says, and he can hear shock and sadness in his voice.

“It’s really not a big deal. I mean, I only ran as far as one of the guest houses on the property. I was old enough to take care of myself by then. I was never in any actual danger or anything.”

“You were _six,_ David!”

He hadn’t actually realized how bad that story sounded until he said it out loud like that and heard Patrick’s horrified response. He opens his mouth to defend his parents, to explain that he and his sister had lived in an entirely separate wing of the house from their parents anyway, so the guest house wasn’t really all that different, but that probably isn’t going to make things sound any better so he closes his mouth again.

Patrick’s arms tighten around him. “Roland has been trying to reach your family ever since you got here. Apparently, they’re out to sea on a trip and it’s been difficult to get in touch with them.” 

“Oh. Well. That’s—” He’s not sure what to think about that. It still seems like they should know he’s missing. The yacht isn’t _that_ big.

Patrick interrupts his thoughts and says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Earlier, when your memory was first coming back, you said _he pushed me._ What were you talking about?” 

David doesn’t respond immediately so Patrick presses another kiss to the top of his head and whispers, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

David whispers, “No. It’s just— I… I don’t know.” He tries to control the panic he feels coiling and crouching in his chest, getting ready to leap. “I can’t...remember. Fuck. Patrick. I don’t know what I meant. I can’t remember!” 

“Hey,” Patrick says soothingly. “It’s okay. Shhh.” He weaves his fingers into David’s hair and rubs his scalp gently. “I bet it’s perfectly normal to still have some gaps in your memory for a while. We’ll call the doctor that treated you whenever you’re ready and ask some questions.”

The assumed _we_ in Patrick's sentence makes his heart clench with hope, with a hope so big he can't let himself think about it.

He pauses and rubs a hand on the back of his head, fingers tangling with Patrick’s. “I remember… I think Sebastien and I were arguing. And I remember falling and being scared, but I don’t remember hitting my head, or anything else, until I woke up in the hospital.”

Patrick has gone still and tense underneath him. “Sebastien.” He practically spits the name. 

“Oh,” David says faintly. “Of course. You met him when… when I was here before.”

Patrick’s body is so stiff that David sits up a bit to face him. “What’s going on?”

“What?” Patrick looks startled. “Nothing.” He tries to tug David back down. “Come back.”

“Patrick.”

He blows out a big breath. “We can talk about it later, David. It’s not important right now.”

“Please just say whatever it is, Patrick. I’m going to worry about it until you do.”

Patrick’s eyes slide away from his and, wow, David does _not_ like that.

“Are you in love with Sebastien?”

Oh. That was not what he expected. He opens his mouth to say _of course not_ but then closes it again and does something he rarely does— considers his words carefully. He _wants_ to be careful with Patrick. He doesn’t want to mess this up. And not messing it up probably means being a lot more honest than he’s used to being. 

“I thought I was. It was a horrible, fucked-up relationship and I thought it was all I deserved. I didn’t know… that I could want more. That I could want something better.” He feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest, but when Patrick’s eyes find his again, the way he’s looking at David makes all of his nerves disappear. It’s as if Patrick sees him for all that he is, and likes what he sees. It’s way too soon to say any more right now, and maybe he’s said enough for the moment, but in the interest of clarity, he adds, “I am definitely not in love with Sebastien.” 

He lays his head back down on Patrick’s chest and Patrick briefly squeezes him so hard he loses his breath, and then he eases up a little. “Good. He’s a dick.”

David grins and then leans up so he can kiss Patrick quick and hard. When he pulls away Patrick slides his hand to the back of David’s head and pulls him back in. They end up making out for several long minutes until David suddenly sits up. “Fuck! Patrick! What if… Oh, my god.” His heart is racing. “What if Sebastien’s been on the yacht with my entire family for weeks now doing god knows what! Maybe he’s the reason no one’s looking for me. Why would he do that?”

Patrick is opening his mouth to reply when someone knocks on the apartment door. He quickly strips off the apron and yanks on a t-shirt and joggers. As he’s walking to the door, whoever it is knocks again, louder this time. 

“Patrick!” Stevie shouts. “Open the door! I got a message from—”

Patrick yanks open the door right as she finishes her sentence. “—David’s sister!” She is raising her fist to pound on the door again so she sort of stumbles through the doorway and her eyes land on David immediately. “Oh. Oh, shit,” she says and claps a hand over her mouth.

David raises one eyebrow and bites down on a smile before saying, “It’s okay, Stevie. What did Alexis say?” 

Stevie’s eyes go huge and she looks at Patrick, who nods. “He started remembering things earlier this morning.”

She blinks at him for a moment and then a shit-eating grin slowly spreads across her face and she looks at David, and then back to Patrick. _“How_ early this morning?”

David watches the tips of Patrick’s ears go pink and he hopes very much that Patrick never stops blushing. He loves it.

“Not important right now, Stevie. What did David’s sister say?!”

“Fine. She—” Stevie turns toward the kitchen and sees the broken coffee mug on the floor. “What happened here? Oh, is that coffee I smell?”

“Stevie...” Patrick’s voice is tense and he scrubs a hand over his face, clearly trying to keep his temper.

“I need some decent coffee. The coffee at the motel is heinous.”

“It _is_ heinous,” David pipes up from the sofa. 

“Oooh,” Stevie says. “Are these pancakes?”

David stands up and practically runs to the kitchen. “I forgot about the pancakes!”

“Oh, my god!” Patrick says and rubs a hand through his hair. He ends up looking like a grumpy hedgehog again and David hopes he never stops doing that either. God, he’s adorable.

He definitely doesn’t seem in the mood to be thought of as adorable, though, so David forces his face into seriousness and resists the urge to kiss him. 

“I’ll clean up the mug and reheat the pancakes,” Patrick says. “You,” he points at David, _“sit down_ before you step on a shard in your bare feet and hurt yourself _._ And _you,”_ he points at Stevie, _“talk!”_

A shiver ripples down David’s spine at Patrick’s tone of voice and he very much hopes he has the opportunity to hear that tone from him in other, more naked contexts. Soon. But now is not the time for that either, so he does as he’s been told and sits down at the table.

Stevie, on the other hand, looks at Patrick like she finds it annoying to be ordered around by him and is considering not cooperating on principle. 

They end up grinning at each other behind Patrick’s back for entirely different reasons.

Stevie brings them up to date. Apparently, the yacht got close enough to land to pick up a cell signal briefly and by some miracle Alexis saw Stevie’s messages. 

“Oh, that’s no miracle,” David says. “Alexis curates her social media footprint very carefully. She reads all of her messages and blocks people who are weird or boring.”

“What about trolls?” Stevie asks. 

“As long as they’re not weird or boring, she leaves them. She wants the numbers.”

“Good to know.”

David is pretty sure introducing Stevie and Alexis is going to be fascinating. 

Until she saw Stevie’s message, Alexis had no idea that David was missing. Sebastien, who was, in fact, on the yacht with the family, told the Roses that David “was being David” and had gone back to New York to pout about something. He’d been vague and David’s family hadn’t asked any questions. 

David huffs and rolls his eyes at that bit.

Now that Alexis knows Sebastien is up to something, though, she is on the case. 

“She said she was planning a mutiny but not to worry because she has experience with those,” Stevie says. 

“I’m sorry?” Patrick says, gaping at David. “Experience with mutiny?!”

“She does, actually,” David says, and Stevie and Patrick exchange a look so David continues, “It was a whole thing. She was taken hostage on David Geffen's yacht by Somali pirates and ended up convincing some of the pirates to turn on the others and stage a mutiny.” He waves an annoyed hand and adds, “Whenever she tells the story to people she always has to point out that no one returned her texts while it was going on.”

Patrick and Stevie exchange another look.

David throws his hands up, “It was _one_ text. And I thought she was joking.”

“Okaaay, then,” Stevie says, clearly still processing that story, and continues, “She said to tell you that she would be here as soon as possible and that your mom wants to know if you took the brown crocodile bag her mother gave her.”

“What the fuck?!” David growls. “I didn’t take her stupid _emergency leaving your husband bag.”_ He starts waving his arms around in frustration. “I literally _fell off a boat!_ I nearly _died,_ and she wants to know about her _husband handbag?”_ He crosses his legs and then crosses his arms for good measure. And then he snorts in disgust. “Typical. This is so typical!”

Patrick and Stevie look baffled— again— but neither of them asks him any more questions and he glares into the middle distance and mumbles to himself for a minute, working through all the things he'd like to say to his mother right now.

“Was there anything else, Stevie?” Patrick asks.

“No… wait. Yes. She also said to tell you not to trust Eli.”

 _“What the fuck does that mean?”_ David shouts in frustration.


	9. For Life (Patrick)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to @vivianblakesunrisebay for being generally wonderful and making my writing better, and to @deenerann and @smallumbrella for the support and encouragement. 
> 
> I (mostly) enjoyed writing this, but it's weird to finish it... what am I supposed to do now? *arm flail*
> 
> Thanks for reading.

“Eli?” Patrick says. “Isn’t that your family’s business manager?”

David starts to reply to Patrick’s question but then his face goes completely slack and blank again. Patrick recognizes it from before. It’s the face David made when he first began remembering things. It’s a little less frightening now that he knows what it is, but it’s still distressing. It’s like someone pressed his off switch suddenly. His eyes are vacant and his body still, which is especially startling since his face and hands are almost constantly in motion. 

“Patrick,” Stevie whispers, “is he okay?”

“I think he’s remembering something,” Patrick says as calmly as he can. 

He absolutely _needs_ to be in physical contact with David right now so he reaches out to lay a hand on his wrist gently. David’s arm is limp on the table, fork slipping out of his grip. A few more moments pass like this in silence and then David twitches and blinks rapidly. “Fuck. It feels weird when I remember things.”

“It _looks_ weird, too,” Stevie observes.

David squints at her. “Not helpful.”

Stevie shrugs. 

Patrick shoots Stevie a look that says, _seriously?_ and then turns back to David. “What did you remember?”

“Sebastien,” David says, followed by a long pause, and then, “The night I fell overboard, when he pushed me.” 

“What?!” Patrick says, his entire body clenching and then jolting as if the danger is here and now and something he can prevent, not something that happened weeks ago. 

“He didn’t, like, push me off the yacht,” David clarifies. “We were arguing. I found out he’d been taking photographs and recording my family secretly. He was planning some sort of art installation about the _disconsolate underbelly of undeserved fame and wealth,_ as he described it. He was probably going to end up calling it something ridiculous like _The Bloom is Off the Roses._ So unimaginative. I mean, _really,_ could he be any more derivative?” David’s voice is dripping with disgust, giving Patrick a glimpse of the David he met on the yacht, full of insecurity disguised as confident superiority. 

It’s jarring to see this guarded and defensive David overlapping with the sweet and open David he’s come to care about, but Patrick can hear the pain of betrayal underneath it all. He slides his hand down to David’s and squeezes, hoping his touch will strengthen a connection to the part of David that belongs to him. David blinks and gives him a trembling smile, eyes going soft. _There he is._ Patrick can see him again and he relaxes a little.

David darts forward and kisses Patrick quickly, as if sensing Patrick needs reassurance. Then they just look into one another’s eyes for a few moments, letting the connection hum between them. 

“I’ve become invisible again,” Stevie says dryly.

Patrick glances at her. “Sorry.” 

“So this escalated quickly,” she says, gesturing at the two of them on the word _this._

Patrick looks back to David and nods. David twists his smile to one side of his mouth and just sort of _dimples_ at Patrick, letting the smile live mostly in his eyes. He’s so beautiful. Patrick can’t help smiling back.

“Okay, well, gross,” Stevie says. “How about we get back on topic here?”

David gives Stevie an open-mouthed, offended look and then clears his throat and bats his eyes at her in a way that somehow conveys sarcasm and affection simultaneously. Patrick can tell they’ve begun developing their own language with one another. It’s sweet, and he’s positive they would both be insulted to know he’s had that thought about them so he keeps it to himself. 

“Turns out Sebastien lost all his money in a bad investment,” David says. “He told me that his little artistic exposé of my family was a win-win situation. That I would enjoy the increased fame that would come from his artistic interpretation of our family’s, quote, _entirely predictable response to a nouveau riche life of social climbing without intrinsic value.”_ David pauses to roll his eyes and shake his head. 

“I told him we were over, that I was finished letting him use me, that I wanted him gone as soon as we reached the next port. Then I told him his ideas were pedestrian and conventional, and he _really_ didn’t like that. That was what pissed him off actually, not me saying I was leaving him. It was that I said his ideas were unoriginal.” 

David thinks for a moment and when he continues again his voice is quieter. “I’d never really seen him visibly angry before. He was always a pompous asshole, but he didn’t really _do_ anger. Said it was an inappropriate use of his artistic fuel.” David waves a hand vaguely. “Or something. Anyway, he was yelling at me and he kept getting closer and I kept backing away. He got angry enough to sort of shove me? And my foot caught on something on the deck and I couldn’t get my balance back. I fell.”

Patrick shoves his chair back from the table so hard it makes a screeching sound on the tile. He jumps up and starts pacing around the apartment. He’s angry and he needs to get it under control. The last thing he needs to do is be upset in front of David right now, just as he’s finished telling this story. He can tell his sudden movement startles him, which makes him feel bad, but the anger is still sizzling through his body like an electrical charge that needs to be expended somehow so he keeps moving, stalking from one end of the apartment to the other. David and Stevie just watch him, heads rotating back and forth like they’re watching a slow motion tennis match.

After a minute of this, David says, “Um, you okay, Patrick?”

He stops pacing and rolls his shoulders, forcing them to relax. “Other than wanting to kill Sebatien Fucking Raine, I’m fine.” He walks back to the table, sits down, and huffs out a big breath. “I’m sorry.” He cups the back of David’s head and pulls him in for a brief kiss, making sure his hand and his lips are both gentle. “You’re okay now. That’s what matters.” He’s talking to himself, really.

 _“You_ don’t have anything to be sorry for,” David mumbles. 

“Did he even _try_ to rescue you?!” Patrick demands.

David blinks and goes blank again for a few seconds. “I… I don’t know,” he whispers.

“Okay, but what about Eli?” Stevie interrupts frustratedly. “How does he factor into all of this?”

“Oh,” David says. “He’s my family’s business manager. He’s, like, my uncle. I mean, not really, but he’s been like family since before I can remember. It doesn’t make any sense that Alexis would say not to trust him.”

“You don’t have _any_ idea why Alexis would tell you not to trust him?” Stevie asks.

David shakes his head slowly, but he looks confused. “I don’t… think… so?”

“David’s memory still seems to have gaps,” Patrick says. 

Stevie makes a couple of attempts to say something before finally settling on, “I’m sure it will all come back soon,” in a kind voice, which is practically a hug, coming from her. Patrick raises his eyebrows at her. 

“Shut up,” she mutters darkly, and then to both of them says, “Alexis said if everything goes right with the mutiny they should be here in a day or two.” She snorts. “I can’t believe that’s something I just said.”

“So soon,” David says, and Patrick isn’t sure what to make of the look on his face in that moment. Mostly he looks… unsettled. 

“Okay, well, I need to get back to the motel.” Stevie says. “I’ll let you know when I hear from Alexis again.”

After the door closes behind her David says, “Patrick, can we go back to the couch?” He sounds wiped out again. 

“Of course.”

They go back to their previous position, David burrowed into Patrick’s chest and Patrick’s arms tight around him. Patrick can feel the tension in both their bodies loosen as David melts into him. The physical contact soothes them both. He weaves his fingers through David’s hair and begins rubbing his scalp gently. David sighs and squeezes him a little tighter.

“So I guess your whole family will be here soon,” Patrick says, trying to suss out why David didn’t seem happy about their imminent arrival.

“I mean, unless they choose not to actually come.”

The way he says it so casually breaks Patrick’s heart a little. “David,” he says in a soft voice. 

“Well,” David says, “I mean, if mom got a part in a big movie, she’d have to prioritize that, or if Dad was in the middle of a big merger…” he trails off.

“Jesus, David. Are you serious?”

“We’re not exactly close.”

Patrick doesn’t know what to say to that so he just keeps holding him.

After a few minutes, David speaks again, voice thick and sleepy, “I think Alexis will come no matter what, though.”

“I’m glad. Rest, David,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.” 

This time Patrick dozes too, waking fully every time David makes a noise or shifts around. His consciousness floats in and out and he’s fantasizing about David’s mouth on him for a while before he realizes David’s mouth actually _is_ on him, lips wrapped around him and sucking gently. “David,” he gasps, voice sleep roughened and surprised. His fantasy is real and it’s so intensely good he’s shaking with it. Little jolts of pleasure are making his hips twitch and now that he’s fully present in the moment, he realizes he isn’t keeping still at all. He’s not sure he even can at this point. “David,” he moans. 

“Mmmm,” David hums and looks up at him, eyes holding Patrick’s for several seconds before they roll back a little and fall closed again in obvious pleasure as he takes Patrick deeper, hollowing his cheeks and quickening his rhythm. Patrick writhes and whines. He wants to push himself up even farther into the wet heat of David’s mouth so badly. 

“Fuck, David.” Despite his best efforts, Patrick is making short little thrusts up to meet David’s mouth now. He can’t seem to control it. He reaches down to push at David’s shoulders. “I can’t— I need you to hold me down or something, David. _Fuck._ I can’t— I can’t stop. Oh my god. So good. _Please.”_

Patrick expects David to press his hips down onto the sofa, but instead David raises up a bit and makes more room to manage Patrick’s thrusts. Then he pulls Patrick’s clumsy, still pushing hands off his shoulders and pins them to the cushion on either side of his hips and takes him as deeply as he can. Patrick shouts and arches up. After a moment David eases back and sucks hard, moving up and down quickly, and Patrick howls and bucks as he comes and comes, and David takes it all, moaning encouragement and riding the movements of Patrick’s body until he collapses back into the sofa, completely spent, chest heaving. 

David relaxes his grip on Patrick’s wrists and allows him to slip out of his mouth. He kisses Patrick’s cock, and then lays his head on his hip while he catches his breath. Patrick can’t do anything except look down at him in wonder, completely blissed out. “David,” he breathes on an exhale. He raises his arms weakly and paws at his shoulders. “Please come here.” 

David smiles and crawls up a bit, bracing himself over Patrick’s body, and Patrick pulls him into a deep, lazy kiss. “That was incredible,” he murmurs against his mouth and kisses him some more. He pulls on David until David lets his full weight settle onto Patrick’s body and they both groan when David’s very hard cock is pressed between them. 

Patrick breaks the kiss and brings a hand up to stroke David’s swollen lower lip with his thumb. Then he puts his mouth on David’s again and sucks on his lip while he forces his hand down between their bodies until he can wrap his hand around David’s erection.

“I want you in my mouth, David.”

David shivers. “Okay.”

“Will you tell me what to do? How to make it good for you?”

David blinks, lips parting and breath hitching, and then he nods.

Once David’s clothes have been tossed aside and Patrick is settled on his knees between his legs, he looks up and gives him the same sly, teasing smile he gave him that first day in the store when David was ordering him around. _“Tell me what to do, David.”_

David gasps, eyes going dark. And then he tells him.

%%%

They spend most of the day alternately napping and enjoying one another’s bodies. They don’t talk about David’s family or his amnesia. They don’t talk about what will happen when David’s old life arrives on their doorstep. Neither of them wants to burst the fragile bubble around them. 

After a particularly energetic interlude that leaves Patrick’s bed in complete disarray and the two of them gasping for breath, David forces Patrick to get up and take a shower, and then ends up joining him under the spray for round… four? five? Patrick’s pretty sure this will be round five. “David,” he chuckles, “The spirit is willing, but the body…” 

“Hey, I’m just here to get clean. It’s not my fault if you can’t keep your—” he waves a hand at Patrick— _“everything_ off me.” Then he gives Patrick a big, happy grin that nearly stops his heart, and it turns out it’s his mouth that Patrick can’t keep off David this time. 

When the water runs cold and drives them out of the shower Patrick makes them something to eat. Afterward, they sit at the table and make plans for the store. He forces himself not to wonder whether or not it’s something they’ll actually be able to do together and tries to just be in the moment. David seems to be on the same page. 

Patrick gives David an artist’s sketch book and a set of colored pencils and markers he found in the store inventory, and David is ridiculously pleased by the gift. He sets about sketching his vision of the store, inside and out. Patrick opens his laptop and works on developing vendor lists and drafting potential contracts. At least, that’s what he does when he isn’t gazing fondly at David’s head of dark, rumpled curls bent over his sketching.

After a while, Patrick leans over to peer at David’s drawing of the center display tables in the store and teases him a little. “I can’t help but notice you aren’t using very many colors in your sketch, David. You know, there are about fifty-seven of them to choose from in that case of pencils.”

David gives him a stern look. “It’s a sand and stone color palette, Patrick. There will be judicious use of color in the store, but overall it will be soothing earth tones that will glow warmly in the sunlight and complement the array of green plants that will live in the windows.” He drops the playful lecture voice then and looks a little shy when he says, “I want the colors to remind you of your hike. The one you told me about.”

“Oh,” Patrick says softly around a clench of emotion in his throat. “That sounds— that sounds nice.” He coughs a little and then says, “I was thinking about you that day, you know. On my hike.”

“You were?”

Patrick just nods. 

David gives him a pleased smile and leans forward so Patrick can kiss him. 

“Okay, back to work,” David says and winks. 

%%%

David stays with him again that night but the following day they have to part ways for a while. Patrick has appointments at Ray’s that he needs to keep. 

“You’re welcome to stay here if you like,” he tells David.

“Thank you, but I think I’m going to go back to the motel and visit with Stevie for a bit.” 

“Okay,” Patrick says, sliding his arms around David’s waist and tilting his face up for a kiss. 

David responds to his silent request and they spend several minutes happily distracted until David breaks the kiss and says, “Come to the motel and get me when you’re finished?” 

“Of course.”

Patrick’s appointments are unfortunately spread throughout the day so he uses the time between them to make sure the Good Wood books are up to date, but it’s quick work all around and he’s left with blocks of time to fill. During one of those blocks he decides to google the Rose family’s business manager and see if he can figure out why Alexis would say not to trust him. When the results page loads, it’s filled with recent news items with increasingly terrible headlines about the Rose Family. 

_Rose Video Empire Falls_

_Rose Family Loses Everything_

_Canadian Revenue Seizes All Rose Family Assets_

That one had photographs of a swarm of people carrying things out of an enormous mansion and loading them onto a truck. A dozen servants were milling around outside the front door, looking terrified.

_Rose Family Business Manager Missing_

_Roses in Hiding_

That one implied the Roses had escaped on their yacht before it could be seized.

All of the articles speculate about the nature of the terrible decisions the family must have made in order to have fallen so far, so fast. Everyone quoted in the stories is clearly taking pleasure in the misfortune of the Roses. 

“Oh, god,” Patrick whispers in disbelief. “Oh, god.” How is he going to tell David? What does this mean for his family? Do they even know? Patrick’s last appointment of the day is pure torture. He’s desperate to get to David, even though he has no idea how he’s going to deliver this news to him. He certainly can’t call. This is definitely the kind of news you deliver in person. He tries his best to be patient with Mr. Hockley and listen to his idea for creating and selling a line of herbal teas but he’s pretty sure his tension is obvious by the end of the meeting because Mr. Hockley tells him that he’ll bring him a special blend to help him better manage his stress. Patrick thanks him and practically shoves him out the door.

When he finally gets to the motel, Patrick knocks on the door to David’s room and stands outside listening to him and Stevie giggle for a long time before Stevie’s wavering voice finally says, “Come innnnn.” He opens the door and it’s quickly apparent he won’t be able to tell David about what he discovered any time soon because David and Stevie are deeply and ridiculously stoned. They are piled together in one of the twin beds. Stevie is lying crossways with her head hanging off the side of the mattress and David’s head is pillowed on her stomach. They’re both laughing and David’s head is bouncing with the force of Stevie’s laughter under him. 

“Hi, honey!” David says and waves at him. “You’re home!” They both burst into giggles.

“Did you bring pizza?” Stevie says. “Or pancakes?”

“Ooooh,” David smacks his lips. “Pizza pancakes.”

“Or pancake pizzas,” Stevie says seriously. 

“Which would be better?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Twyla would make them both for us and then we could decide.”

Realizing there’s no way he can have this conversation with David tonight is a weight lifted. He’s got a short reprieve and he’s going to be grateful for it. He does his best to shrug off the anxiety before they can sense it. “It appears you two got started without me.” 

“Mmm-hmm.” David blinks at him owlishly. “You need to catch up.”

“Yessssssss,” Stevie says. “And you need to get us pizza.”

“And pancakes,” David adds.

%%%

The next morning there are bees buzzing and thumping around outside the motel room. Why are there bees buzzing thumping outside the motel room? Wait. Can bees thump? They’re not big enough for that. He must be dreaming. Patrick pulls David tighter against him and buries his nose in the back of his neck, breathing the woodsy, vaguely cinnamon scent that seems to be David’s natural smell. It goes straight to his cock. God, he loves how David smells. He rolls his hips against him a little to gauge whether or not he’s awake and is met with a low, pleased rumble vibrating up from David’s chest under his palm. 

The door to the room suddenly bangs open and Patrick has a weird moment of thinking it’s Ray busting into his room before a woman’s voice shrieks, “Ew, David! _Oh, my god!”_

“What the fuck?” David sits up so suddenly Patrick nearly falls backwards off the narrow twin bed. He manages not to, and manages to keep the blankets from being pulled off his naked body, but it’s a near thing. 

“What is happening?! What are you doing in my room? _Oh, my god!”_ David shouts and waves his arms at the pretty blonde woman standing there, looking completely out of place in her floppy hat and fashionable festival wear. 

“You weren’t answering your door, David! We had to get the motel person to let us in.” She gestures at Stevie, who is standing just outside the open door, clearly enjoying this.

Before David can say anything else, another stunning blonde woman bursts through the door with her arms outstretched, wailing, “Daayvid! Oh, David!” She’s dressed like… well, honestly, Patrick doesn’t know what she’s dressed like. She’s either just finished some sort of circus performance or he simply doesn’t understand high fashion. It’s probably the second thing. 

“David!” she wails a third time. “Thank god we’ve found you!”

A well-dressed older man in a suit is right on her heels. “David!” he booms.

“Stop yelling _David!”_ David yells.

“Nobody knew where you were!” the older of the two blondes— he assumes she’s David’s mother— says dramatically. “I was worried sick, dear. _Where’s David… or his bags?”_ She waves an arm and looks around the room, clearly searching for something. 

“Oh!” the older man says, eyes settling on Patrick. He steps up to the bed and holds out a hand, “I’m Johnny Rose. And you are…?” 

Patrick clutches the sheet to his chest, face flaming, and shakes Mr. Rose’s hand. “I’m, uh, Patrick. Patrick Brewer. Nice to—” before he can finish his sentence David’s mother says, “We seem to have caught you boys in a… a...”

“An afternoon delight,” Mr. Rose interrupts, clapping his hands together in front of himself awkwardly and looking pleased for some unfathomable reason. “Isn’t that the, uh—”

“OH MY GOD!” David shouts. 

Stevie is laughing so hard she’s crying. Actually crying with actual tears.

“Get out!” David shouts. 

“Oh, my _god,_ David,” the blonde woman, who has to be Alexis, sounds terribly offended. “So ungrateful. We’re here to rescue you!”

“Shut up!” David says. 

“You shut up!” she shoots back.

“We’re _not dressed!_ Are you blind?! Get out! Out! Out! Out! FUCK.” David yells.

The three Roses bunch together at the door, bumping into each other frustratedly until Johnny and Alexis back up and allow Moira to exit first. She turns around in the doorway and says, “David, dear, where are your bags?”

“I don’t have your leave-your-husband bag! I FELL off a BOAT. I don’t have ANYTHING!” 

They turn to leave again and David says, “Wait! Sebastien was on the yacht too. Where is he?”

“Oh, yes,” Johnny says. “Sebastien. I have to say I’m disappointed in him, David.”

“You think?!” David shouts in exasperation. “He left me floating in the ocean!”

“Yes, well, we left him the custody of someone at the harbor. What was that person’s name Moira?”

Mrs. Rose gives Mr. Rose the same exasperated look David just did and says, “I can’t be expected to remember the name of every stray I meet, John. I don’t know. Dog, I think? Mongrel?”

“Mutt,” Stevie provides helpfully. 

“OH MY GOD!” David shouts again. 

Patrick has seen David wound up before, but this is a whole new level. He’s trying really hard not to laugh at the absurd situation, but he’s losing the battle so he covers his mouth with one hand. 

Johnny holds an arm out, trying to usher everyone out of the room more quickly. 

Once they all clear the doorway, Stevie pokes her head back in and says, through gasps of laughter, “I’ll take them to the Cafe for some brunch while you two make yourselves decent.”

After the door closes, David flops back down on the bed and growls in frustration, loud and long.

Patrick lies back next to him and is immediately overcome with laughter. It bubbles up out of him and he can’t hold it back. “So— so,” he hiccups, “that was your family, huh?”

David turns his head and glowers at him, which just makes Patrick laugh harder. He curls onto his side and throws an arm over David and tries to speak again, but he’s laughing too hard. David continues to glare at him. “What are you laughing at?” he demands. 

Patrick climbs on top of David, braces himself on his arms, and tries very hard to stop laughing. “That’s not how I imagined meeting your family, David.” 

David smiles ruefully. “It’s not the worst first meeting one of my boyfriends has ever had with them.”

A bright jolt of happiness courses through Patrick. “What did you just say?”

He sees panic jump to life in David’s eyes. “Oh! I… uh…”

Before he can say anything else Patrick kisses him soundly and says, “My boyfriend should probably get out of this bed before I get ideas.” He rocks his hips against David a little and kisses him again. “My boyfriend is rumpled and cute and I might not be able to resist.” Another kiss. 

David gives him the small, pleased smile Patrick loves and says, “Well, _my_ boyfriend should probably get off me then.” 

It’s not until David is in the shower and Patrick has a few seconds of quiet that he remembers that he still has terrible news he needs to deliver. 

_Shit._

When it’s his turn, Patrick showers and dresses quickly. He spends his brief minutes in the bathroom trying to decide how best to deliver this news to David before accepting that there _is_ no good way to do it.

He finds David sitting on his bed staring into space. Patrick suspects he’s mentally preparing himself to see his family again. He sits next to him and pulls him into a brief kiss.

“Mmm,” David hums. “Don’t start again or we won’t leave.” 

Patrick smiles grimly and scoots back a little. “David, I did some googling on your family’s business manager to try to figure out what’s going on there and discovered some bad news.”

He presses his phone into David’s hands. One of the news stories is open on the display. David looks confused as he begins to read. As he scrolls through the other articles, confusion quickly turns to shock and then anger and then something else that Patrick can’t quite identify. His hand is trembling when he hands the phone back to Patrick. He doesn’t say anything so Patrick begins rubbing a hand up and down his back and remains silent also, letting him process. 

After a few minutes he says, “You should text Stevie and tell her to bring my family back here to the motel so I can tell them. Trust me, we don’t want my mother detonating in public.”

Patrick does as asked and sends a text to Stevie. Then looks back to David. “Are you okay?” he asks. 

David doesn’t respond. His face has gone oddly blank again so Patrick waits it out. When he blinks back to life he turns to Patrick and says. “The night Sebastien and I argued and I fell overboard, I overheard Sebastien talking to Eli on the phone. That’s how it all started. Eli was giving Sebastien access to personal information for his betrayal art and… and… now that I’ve seen these articles, I understand the rest of the conversation I overheard better. I didn’t understand that night, but I think Sebastien was working with Eli to help him do… whatever he did.”

“Oh my god,” Patrick whispers. “David. I’m so sorry.”

“I think I must be in shock,” David says. “I should be really upset right now, shouldn’t I? Like, angry and stuff, right? Why am I so calm, Patrick?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick says. 

“Patrick, it’s… I think maybe some part of me is… relieved? Is that weird?”

“Yes,” Patrick says seriously but then he smiles and pulls David into a hug. He starts to ask him why _any_ of this would make him feel _relieved_ when, without warning, or even a courtesy knock, the door to the room bursts open again and the Roses and Stevie all tumble in. 

Mrs. Rose is gesticulating and wailing loudly. “My very soul has been kidnapped, John! There’s no ransom! No one’s coming to save me!”

Mr. Rose is speaking sternly to no one, because no one is paying attention to him. “Eli was family, for god’s sake. _Leave your finances to me,_ he said. Son of a bitch!” 

Alexis is on her phone with her hand over the other ear, trying to hear whoever is on the other end. “Babe!” she whines,” Can’t you just step outside the club _for a minute?_ Oh my god.”

Mr. Rose continues speaking to no one in particular. “Eli really did a number. He took everything! They’re still looking for him. They think he’s in the Caymans.”

Mrs. Rose has devolved to incoherent shrieking.

Stevie pushes past the pinballing Roses and sits on the bed with David and Patrick. “Roland showed up at the Cafe,” she says. “He told the Roses that a man from Revenue showed up at the harbor this morning with a team of people to repossess the yacht. They dumped the family’s clothing and personal items in piles on the dock and left with the yacht. Mr. Rose made some calls and it turns out—” 

“Yeah, we know,” David interrupts. “Eli stole everything. Patrick saw it online.”

“Apparently he didn’t pay taxes either,” Patrick says. “What a mess.” He slides his hand into David’s, hoping to provide a bit of grounding amidst all this insanity. David tosses him a quick smile and squeezes his hand, but then he stands up and starts hollering at his family.

“Will you all just SHUT UP!” He waves his arms as if to make himself bigger and therefore noticeable to his family. _“For a minute!”_

They do all go silent, but only momentarily. Then Mrs. Rose says, “David, stop acting like a disgruntled pelican,” in an admonishing voice. 

“Excuse me,” David hisses. **_“I_ **am the one that fell off a boat and has been traumatized!”

Mrs. Rose waves a hand at him dismissively. “It was only a _hint_ of amnesia, dear, and you’re fine now. However, our loss of fortune appears to be indissoluble!”

Stevie looks at Patrick and mouths the word _indissoluble._ Patrick shrugs.

“Wait!” David shouts over the din and then spins toward Patrick. “Sebastien! We have to turn him over to the police for helping Eli! What if he convinces Mutt to let him go?"

They exchange a startled glance and both rush for the door with Stevie right behind them shouting, “We’ll take my car!”

%%%

Stevie drives fast and comes to a squealing halt in the harbor parking lot. The car is barely in park before the three of them are out and running to the dock. They don’t see anyone at first and Patrick’s stomach sinks. Then Mutt comes out of the small bait shop and all-purpose building. He’s got one of Sebastien’s arms twisted behind him and is using it to push him along. Sebastien looks deeply unhappy. 

“Hey, Pat,” Mutt calls. “You guys looking for this?”

“Yeah, man,” Patrick says, relieved. “Thank you.” 

“No worries.”

Mutt lets go of him and Sebastien shakes his arm out a little and glares back at him, looking Mutt up and down derisively. “Taking homeless chic a bit far for my taste.”

Mutt just smiles and nods, unbothered by Sebastien.

“Hey, would you mind calling the police for us? I think they’re going to want to have a word with the _artiste_ here,” Patrick says. 

“Sure thing,” Mutt says. As he turns to go, Sebastien tries to make a break for it but he runs too close to Stevie. She simply sticks a foot out, catching his ankle, and they all watch as he trips and falls spectacularly. 

“Ouch,” David says mildly. “That looks like it hurt.”

Sebastien looks up at David with rage in his eyes and jumps to his feet. 

Patrick reacts instantly and leaps in front of David with fists clenched so hard the muscles in his forearms are jumping. “Give me a reason,” he grits out in a low, harsh voice. “Give me _one_ reason.”

Sebastien blinks and takes a step back. He considers for a moment and then looks over Patrick’s shoulder to David.

“I tried to help you,” he says in a wheedling voice. “I threw one of the chair cushions in after you!”

David snorts in disgust. “A chair cushion. How magnanimous. You didn’t stop the boat or go back to look for me, but a chair cushion you could manage. You’re a monster.”

Patrick hears David’s voice break just a little on the last word. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off Sebastien so he settles for holding an open hand out to David behind his back. He’s relieved when he feels David’s fingers thread through his own and squeeze. 

“How did you know I didn’t bring the boat back to look for you?” Sebastien demands, all of his pretense stripped away now. Anger and fear evident in his voice. “Did Paul tell you? That little shit. I’ll kill him.”

“You told me,” David says coldly. “Just now.”

Turns out that is _more_ than enough reason for Patrick. He drops David’s hand and punches Sebastien so hard he actually does a little half spin from the force of it and falls to his knees. 

“Fuck,” Sebastien moans from the ground. “That hurt! I’ll tell the police about this, you asshole. That’s assault.”

“No, officer,” Stevie says in a sarcastic voice. “No one touched him. He fell down.” Then she walks over and kicks Sebastien in the ass, toppling him over. “Twice.”

Sebastien gapes at them for a moment and then changes tack again. “David,” he says in a cajoling voice. “You love me. We can work this out.”

“Not in a million years, Sebastien.” David says. “I’m sure you’ll find the bespoke experience you’re looking for in prison.”

%%%

It takes a long time for the police to take statements from all three of them and get David’s story. By the time it’s over, they’re all exhausted. They go back to the motel to tell David’s family about what’s happened but all three of them are out cold. 

“I imagine they’re all coming down from a pharmacy’s worth of drugs right now,” David says. “We’ll tell them tomorrow.” He leans into Patrick’s shoulder. “Can we go back to your place?”

“Absolutely.”

David turns to Stevie. “Thank you,” he says, simply and sincerely. “For everything.”

“Ew, David,” she says in a soft voice Patrick’s never heard her use before and she smiles at David. “Go get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” She starts to walk away and then turns and says, “You’d better be here early. I mean it. I’m not dealing with your family alone. Be here by nine a.m.”

“But I’m not a morning person,” David says. 

“Tough,” she says, and then, as she’s walking away, “Nice punch, Brewer.” 

They stumble back to Patrick’s apartment, undress, and fall into bed, winding their bodies together and drifting into sleep almost immediately. 

The next morning Patrick slides under the sheets and does what he can to make David happier about being awake so early, and when they climb into the shower together David makes sure Patrick has a good start to his day as well. 

They take the walk back to the motel slowly, basking in the warm morning sunshine and enjoying a bit of calmness before the storm. 

Patrick stops walking and tugs on David’s hand to turn him. He slides his arms around his waist, pulls their hips together, and leans up to kiss him. David is surprised at first and giggles into the kiss but then quickly gets on board, wrapping his arms around Patrick's neck and pulling him in until their chests are pressed together so tightly Patrick can feel David’s heart beating. They stand there in the middle of the sidewalk, kissing lazily for a few minutes, heedless of who might be watching. 

When they finally part, it’s only far enough to be able to look at each other. David rubs his nose against Patrick’s and gives him a last brief kiss. “Hi,” he says, smiling happily. “What was that for?”

Patrick shrugs one shoulder. “I wanted to.”

“Well, I approve.”

“Noted.”

David notices that they’re standing in front of the Schitt house again and he nods at the sign. “I was thinking about adding some pops of red to the mood board for the store.”

“Really?” Patrick says. “Red? With your sand and stone color palette?”

“Mmm-hmm.” David nods several times. “Just a little bit. Just to draw the eye. Maybe we could put scarlet lid liners in the tops of Twyla’s jars of artisanal oats.”

“I like it,” Patrick says.

“And maybe we could find someone to hand carve some rustic cardinals.”

“I like that, too.” Patrick kisses him again and gives him a knowing smile. “Did you know that some cultures believe seeing a cardinal means you’re about to enter into a new relationship?”

“I did actually.” David says smugly. Then he cups the back of Patrick’s head and rubs a thumb over his cheek. “Did _you_ know male cardinals are red and females are brown? So if we stuck with the red accent we’d be filling our store with pairs of male cardinals.”

“Mmm,” Patrick hums into David’s kiss and then pulls back. His heart starts beating faster as he thinks about what he’s about to say and then he goes for it. “Did _you_ know cardinals mate for life?”

David’s eyes go big and he looks at the sign and back at Patrick again. “Really?”

Patrick nods and smiles at him. 

David’s eyes fill with tears and he blinks them back. “Well,” he whispers, “I like the sound of that.”

“Me, too.”

They stand there next to the sign, under an endless blue sky, in the middle of the town they will both come to call home, and make a new memory.

**The end**


End file.
